THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 


Mrs.  E.  Ott  Egleston 


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SIXTH    READER; 


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jE  an: 


CONS^TTING 


dvUhnzl 


EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE  AND  VERSE,  WITH  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND 
CRITICAL  NOTICES  OF,  THE  AUTHORS. 


A 

FOB  THE  n 


i^r^cU 


IN  PUBLIC   AND   PRIVATE   SCHOOLS, 


G.    S.   HILLAED. 


AN  INTRODUCTORY  TREATISE  ON  ELOCUTION, 

'       By  prof,  mark  BAILEY. 


school- 

BOSTON":  >iigh   life. 

BRETVER      AINrr)      TILES  T  itroductory 


PHILADELPHIA  :   MARTIN  AND  RANDALI 
1863. 


jbd  to  most 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 

G.      8.    HILLARD, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Education 


GIFT 


stereotyped  and  Printed  by 

J.    E.     FARWKLI,     and     COMPAWr. 

87  Congress  Street,  Boston. 


?9i 

PREPACE.  Ur.  ' 


The  "Sixth  Reader"  corresponds  to  the  "  Fiest  Class 
Reader  "  in  the  compiler's  former  series,  and,  like  that,  is  in- 
tended for  the  most  advanced  classes  in  our  public  and  private 
schools.  The  main  object  of  all  reading  books  is  to  teach  the 
art  of  reading,  and  this  has  been  constantly  borne  in  mind  in 
preparing  this  compilation.  With  this  view,  a  wide  range  of 
selections  has  been  made,  so  that  the  pupils  using  it  may  be 
trained  to  give  proper  force  and  due  expression  to  every  form 
of  style,  whether  grave  or  gay,  humorous  or  pathetic,  elevated 
or  familiar,  declamatory  or  simple.  The  pieces,  as  a  general 
rule,  are  of  moderate  length,  and  care  has  been  taken  to  admit 
nothing  which  young  persons  would  be  likely  to  pronounce  dull 
or  tame.  Several  of  the  most  approved  pieces  in  the  ''First  Class 
Reader*'  have  been  retained,  but  a  large  proportion  of  the  con- 
tents is  new.  As  compared  with  the  former  work,  it  will  be 
seen  that  there  is  a  greater  number  of  declamatory  and  animated 
pieces ;   and  this  change  has  been  advisedly  made. 

As  far  as  was  consistent  with  the  end  of  preparing  a  good 
reading  book,  the  compiler  has  endeavored  to  make  his  young 
readers  acquainted  with  the  treasures  of  English  and  American 
literature,  and  thus  to  aid  them  in  forming  a  good  literary  taste. 
No  one  who  recalls  his  own  youth  need  be  told  how  lasting  are 
the  impressions  made  by  the  pieces  habitually  read  in  tlie  school- 
room, and  how  they  shape  and  color  the  mind  through  life. 
With  this  view  much  care  has  been  given  to  the  introductory 
aotices,  biographical,  critical,  and  explanatory,  prefixed  to  most 
3f  the  selections. 

435 


IV  PREFACE. 

The  compiler  has  taken  several  pieces  which  have  long  been 
familiar  to  all  persons  acquainted  with  English  literature,  and 
which  may  to  some  extent  be  pronounced  hackneyed ;  such  as  Col- 
lins's  "Ode  to  the  Passions"  and  Gray's  "Elegy."  But  the  perma- 
nent popularity  of  such  pieces  is  due  to  their  intrinsic  merit,  and 
it  seemed  to  the  compiler  that  they  ought  not  to  be  displaced  to 
make  room  for  productions  which,  it  is  true,  are  now  commended 
by  the  gloss  of  novelty,  but  will  not  be  likely  to  wear  so  well  as 
those  on  which  time  has  set  its  lasting  seal  of  approval.  Several 
pieces  will  also  be  found  here  wliich  were  first  made  generally 
known  in  Pierpont's  "  American  First  Class  Book,"  an  admirable 
work,  which,  in  many  respects,  has  never  been  surpassed  by  any 
of  the  many  similar  compilations  which  have  since  appeared.  In 
doing  this  the  compiler  has  been  guided  not  only  by  his  own 
judgment  but  by  the  express  wishes  of  several  teachers  who  were 
desirous  that  selections  should  be  retained  which  have  so  long 
borne  the  sharp  test  of  daily  use. 

In  the  preparation  of  the  work  the  compiler  has  been  aided  by 
the  judgment  and  experience  of  many  practical  teachers,  espe- 
cially several  masters  of  grammar  schools  in  this  city,  whose  ser- 
vices and  interest  are  gratefully  remembered.  And  at  every  step 
he  has  had  the  valuable  assistance  of  his  publisher  and  friend, 
Dr.  T.  M.  Brewer,  to  whose  taste  and  judgment  no  small  por- 
tion of  whatever  merit  the  work  may  be  found  to  possess  is  to 
be  ascribed. 

The  introductory  portion,  on  reading  and  the  training  of  the 
vocal  organs,  has  been  prepared  expressly  for  this  work  by  Prof. 
Mark  Bailey,  of  Yale  College,  a  gentleman  of  large  experience 
in  the  teaching  of  elocution;  and  it  is  confidently  believed  that 
teachers  will  find  it  of  great  .practical  service,  and  that  it  will 
add  much  to  the  value  of  the  work. 


CONTENTS. 


INTEODUCTORY   TREATISE. 

Paob 
Pbeface xv 

Part  I xvii 

Method  of  Analysis xvii 

Different  Kinds  or  Classes  of  Emotion xix 

Vocal  Expression xx 

Elements  of  Vocal  Expression I xx 

PART  II.    Principles  and  Illustrations  of  the  Elements  of 

Vocal  Expression xxii 

Force xxii 

Time xx  v  iii 

The  Slides xxxiii 

Pitch xli  V 

Volume xlvi 

Stress xlvii 

Quality  of  Voice Iviii 

Mixed  Emotions Ixxiv 

Physical  Culture , Ixxix 

Vocal  Culture... Ixxx 

Natural  Expression Ixxx 


DIDACTIC. 

PROSE. 
Lesson  Page 

1.  The  Contrast:  or  Peace  and  "War Athenmum.      1 

3.  The  Discontented  Pendulum Jane  Taylor.      8 

15.  Excuses  for  Neglect  of  Keligion Budcminster .    47 

16.  Same  Subject,  concluded "  51 

34.  The  Miseries  of  War Hall.  113 

40.  The  Progress  of  Society Channing.  131 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Lesson  Page 

42,  Eternity  of  God Greenwood.  139 

59.  True  Honesty Fallen.  184 

63.  Voices  of  the  Dead Gumming.  200 

65.  Incentives  to  Duty Sumner.  20S 

70.  On  the  Pleasure  of  Acquiring  Knowledge Alison.  216 

73.  The  Bible 222 

75 .  The  Introduction  of  Christianity  into  Europe Ide.  227 

81.  The  Roman  Empire  a  Preparation  for  Christianity Wayland.  24» 

82.  Wonders  of  Astronomy 0.  M.  Mitchell.  245 

84.  The  Uses  of  the  Ocean Swain.  250 

115.  True  Greatness Channing.  339 

139.  The  World  of  Beauty  around  us Horace  Mann.  402 

POETKY. 

4.  The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs Longfellow.    12 

6.  ToaWater  Fowl Bryant.    22 

The  Good  Great  Man Coleridge.  107 

69.  All  Things  are  of  God Moore.  214 

71.  Hymn  at  the  Consecration  of  a  Cemetery Newell.  218 

72.  The  Conqueror's  Grave Bryant.  220 

74.  God Derzhavin.  223 

83.  Thanatopsis Bryant.  247 

107.  Lines  to  a  Child,  on  his  Voyage  to  JEYance,  to  meet  his  Father,  Ware.  319 
141.  Elegy  vv^ritten  in  a  Country  Church-yard Gray.  405 


NAEKATIVE    AND    DESCKIPTIVE. 

PROSE. 

2.  Grace  Darling Chambers^s  Miscellany.     3 

7.  Morning  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland. . .' Sir  Walter  Scott.    24 

14.  The  Blind  Preacher Wirt.    44 

18.  The  Last  Days  of  Sir  Walter  Scott Loclchart.    58 

22.  Autumn H.  W.  Beecher.    74 

24.  The  Prairies 82 

30.  The  Death  of  Chatham Belsham.  101 

3;{.  The  Falls  of  Niagara Hoivison.  108 

35.  The  Voyage Irving.  1 1 6 

.'59.  Dialogue  from  Ivanhoe Sir  Walter  Scott.  12G 

45.  Character  of  Washington London  Courier.  149 

54    The  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill Bancroft.  173 

0 1 .  Washington  at  Mount  Vernon Irving.  191 

8(i.  John  Hampden Macaulay.  255 

93.  Execution  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots Lingard.  278 

iM).  Webster's  Greatest  Parliamentary  Effort Everett.  288 

105.  John  Quincy  Adams «.t..t. i Scioard.  312 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

Lesson  Paoe 

lOG.  Trial  of  Warren  Hastings Macaulay.  315 

124.  The  First  Predicted  Eclipse O.  M.  Mitchell.  358 

127.  Summer D.  G.Mitchell.  364 

136.  Canning  and  Brougham 390 

POETRY. 

20.  The  Battle  of  Flodden  Field Sir  Walter  Scott.    67 

21.  Same  Subject,  concluded "  71 

44.  Home Montgomery.  147 

56.  Ginevra Rogers.  177 

60.  PaulRevere's  Ride Longfellow.  187 

64.  The  Rainbow 203 

79.  The  Burial  of  Sir  John  More Wolfe.  239 

85.  Scene  after  a  Summer  Shower  Norton.  2^i 

92.  The  Execution  of  Montrose Aytoun.  275 

94.  The  Shipwreck Wilson.  282 

95.  The  Contrasts  of  Alpine  Scenery Byron.    285 

138.  The  Skeleton  in  Armor Longfellow.  397 

AForest  Scene *'         413 


HUMOEOUS     AND     PATHETIC. 

PROSE. 

6.  Rip  Van  Winkle Irving.    15 

26.  The  Captive Sterne.    87 

49.  Death  and  Burial  of  Little  Nell Dickens.  159 

53.  Fashionable  Parties  in  New  Netherlands Irving.  170 

111.  Mrs.  Caudle  urging  the  need  of  Spring  Clothing Jerrold.  328 


POETRY. 

13.  Give  me  Three  Grains  of  Corn,  Mother Miss  Edwards.    42 

23.  The  Deacon's  Masterpiece;  or,  The  Wonderful «'  One-horse  Shay," 

Holmes.    77 

25.  Helvellyn 'S'**'  Walter  Scott.    85 

50.  Address  to  the  Mummy  in  Belzoni's  Exhibition,  London, 

Horace  Smith.  1C5 

58.  Over  the  River Miss  Priest.  183 

67.  The  Burial  of  Arnold Willis.  210 

102.  The  Angels  of  Buena  Vista Whittier.  305 

109.  The  Indians Sprague.  323 

112.  The  Bridge  of  Sighs I^ood.  331 

123.  A  Parental  Ode  to  my  Infant  Son Hood.  356 


Vm  CONTENTS. 


DECLAMATORY. 

PROSE. 
Lesson  Page 

8.  The  Slave  Trade Webster.    28 

12.  Obligations  of  America  to  England Everett.    39 

29.  Speech  on  the  American  War Chatham.    9? 

31.  Character  of  Chatham Grattan.  103 

47.  Imaginary  Speech  in  Opposition  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 

Webster.  154 

48.  Mr.  Adams's  Reply  to  the  above  Speech ,       «'        156 

57.  The  "Western  Posts , Ames.  180 

68.  The  Future  of  America Webster.  212 

100.  Loss  of  Union  Irreparable «<         30o 

103.  American  Nationality Choate.  307 

108.  The  Death  of  Hamilton Notf.  321 

110.  American  Laborers NaT/lor.  326 

113.  Spartacusto  the  Gladiators e.  Kellogg.  334 

117.  The  Last  Hours  of  "Webster Everett.  345 

134.  Speech  of  Ringan  Gilhaize Gait.  382 

140.  The  Reform  Bill Sidney  Smith.  404 

142.  The  Cause  of  the  Union Winthrop.  410 

145.  Vindication  of  Ireland. ., , .Shell.  420 

POETRY. 

9.  Hohenlinden Campbett.    31 

10.  The  Husker's  Song WMttier.    33 

17.  The  Fall  of  Poland Campbell.    55 

28.  Napoleon's  Return Miss  Wallace.    94 

32.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers Pierpont.  105 

36.  Slavery Cowper.  120 

37.  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade Tennyson.  122 

38.  Union  and  Liberty Holmes.  125 

51.  Spanish  War  Song...* Mrs.  Hemans.  167 

52.  Hallowed  Ground Campbell.  168 

55.  Warren's  Address  before  the  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill Pierpont.  176 

66.  Address  to  the  Sun Ossian.  209 

80.  The  Launching  of  the  Ship .....Longfellow'.  240 

89.  Greece  in  1809 Byron.  266 

97.  The  Widow  of  Glencoe Aytoun.  290 

104.  Lines  on  the  Entry  of  the  Austrians  into  Naples Moore.  311 

114.  The  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Berlin  Landsturm Kbrner.  338 

118.  Hymn  before  Sunrise,  in  the  Valley  of  Chamouni,  Switzerland, 

Coleridge.  347 

119.  Old  Ironsides Holmes.  349 

122.  Song  of  the  Greeks Campbell.  355 

126.  Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean Byron.  363 

128.  Extract  from  Rienzi Miss  Mit ford.  368 

129.  The  Passions Collins.  369 


CONTENTS.  IX 


Lesson  Page 

132.  The  Forging  of  the  Anchor Ferguson.  376 

133.  The  Raven Poe.  378 

144.  Antony's  Address  to  the  Romans • Shakspeare.  417 

146.  The  EiBing  Of  the  Vendue Croly,  422 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

PROSE. 

11.  Parallel  between  Pope  and  Dryden Johnson,    35 

19.  Character  of  Su- Walter  Scott Prescott.    63 

27.  Character  of  Samuel  Adams Tudor.    90 

43.  A  Flower  for  the  Window Leigh  Hunt.  143 

78.  Female  Education Everett.  235 

88.  The  Intellectual  Influence  of  Greece Felton.  263 

90.  The  Influence  of  Athens Macaulay.  270 

120.  Character  of  Lafayette Adams.  .350 

125.  Character  of  Columbus Irving.  301 

131,  Tact  and  Talent London  Atlas.  374 

147.  The  Awaking  of  a  Great  Nation Milton.  424 

POETRY. 

46.  Breathings  of  Spring Mrs.  Hemans.  152 

77.  The  Deaf  Man's  Grave Wordsworth.  232 

87.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers Sprague.  259 

101.  The  Antiquity  of  Freedom Bryant.  303 

121.  Hymn  of  Praise  by  Adam  and  Eve Milton,  353 


DEAMATIC. 

41.  Hubert  and  Arthur ShaTcspeare.  133 

62.  The  Alderman's  Funeral Southey.  195 

76.  Wolsey  and  Cromwell Shakspeare.  228 

91.  Lochiel's  Warning Campbell.  272 

98.  The  Swiss  Patriot Knowles.  292 

99.  Same  Subject,  concluded «         296 

116.  Prisoners'  Evening  Service ;  a  Scene  of  the  French  Revolution, 

Mrs.  Hemans.  341 

130.  The  Church-yard .'. Karamsin.  372 

135.  Alcestis  and  Pheres Alfieri.  385 

137.  Scene  from  King  Henry  IV Shakspeare.  394 

143.  Richelieu's  Vindication Bvlwer,  414 


INDEX  OP  AUTHOES. 


Pagb 

Adams,  XQ 350 

Alfieri 385 

Alison,  Archibald 216 

Ames,  Fisher 180 

Anonymous 82, 149,  203,  222,  390 

Athenaeum 1 

Aytoun,  William  E 275,  290 

Bancroft,  George 173 

Beecher,  H.  W 74 

Belsham,  William 101 

Bryant,  William  C. . .  .22,  220,  247,  303 

Buckmmster,  Joseph  S 47 

Bulwer .414 

Byron,  Lord 266,285,363 

Campbell,  Thomas,  31, 55, 168,  272,  355 

Chambers's  Miscellany 3 

Channing,  William  E 131,  339 

Chatham,  Lord 97 

Choate,Rufus 307 

Coleridge,  S.  T 107,  347 

Collins,  William 369 

Cowper,  William 120 

Croly,  George 422 

Cumming-,  John 200 

Derzhavin 223 

Dickens,  Charles 159 

Edwards,  Miss 42 

Everett,  Edward 39,  235,  288,  345 

Eelton,  C.  C 263 

Ferguson,  S 376 

Follen,  Charles 184 

.^  Gait,  John 382 

Grattan,  Henry 103 

Gray,  Thomas 405 

Greenwood,  F.  W.  P... 139 

Hall,  Robert 113 

Hemans,  Mrs 152, 167,341 

Holmes,  O,  W 77, 125,  349 

Hood,  Thomas 331,  356 

♦     Howison,  John 108 

Hunt,  Leigh 143 

Ide,  George  B 227 

Irving,  W 15,116,170,191,361 

Jerrold,  Douglas 328 

Johnson, Samuel ^...  35 

Karamsin 372 

Kellogg,  Elijah 334 

Korner,  Karl  Theodor 338 

Knowles,  Sheridan 293 


Page 

Lingardi  Johnii  •  1 1 1  •  •  i  •  •  •  • 278 

Lockhart,  J.  G 58 

London  Atlas 374 

London  Courier 149 

Longfellow,  H.  W..12, 187, 240, 397,413 

Macaulay,  T.  B 255,  270,  315 

Mann,  Horace 402 

Milton,  John 353 

Mitchell,  D.  G 364 

Mitchell,  O.M 245,  358 

Mitford,  Miss 368 

Montgomery,  James 147 

Moore,  Thomas 214,  311 

Naylor,  C.  C 326 

Newell,  William 218 

Norton,  Andrews 254 

Nott,E 321 

Ossian , 209 

Pierpont,  John 105, 176 

Poe,  E.A 378 

Prescott,  W.  H 63 

Priest,  Miss 183 

Rogers,  Samuel 177 

Scott,  Sir  Walter 24,  67,  86,  126 

Seward,  William  H 312 

Shakspeare 133,  228,  394,  417 

Shell,  R.  L 420 

Smith,  Horace 165 

Smith,  Sidney 404 

Southey,  Robert 195 

Sprague,  Charles 259,  323 

Sterne,  Lawrence 87 

Sumner,  Charles 205 

Swain,  Leonard 250 

Taylor,  Jane 8 

Tennyson,  Alfred 122 

Tudor,  William 90 

Wallace,  Miss 94 

Ware,  Henry 319 

Wayland,  Erancis 243 

Webster,  Daniel. .  .28, 154, 156, 212,  300 

Whittier,  J.  G 33,305 

Willis,  N.P 210 

Wilson,  John 282 

Winthrop,  R.  C 410 

Wirt,  William 44 

Wolfe,  Charles 239 

Worasworth,  William 232 


TABLE  OF  VOWEL  SOUNDS. 

A  Vowel  is  a  letter  which  represents  a  free  and  uninterrupted  sound  of  the 
human  voice. 

An  Equivalent  is  a  letter  or  combination  of  letters  used  to  represent 
an  elementary  sound  more  appropriately  represented  by  another  letter  or 
letters.  The  Equivalents  given  in  these  tables  are  those  of  more  common 
occurraace. 


A  long 
A  short 
A  Italian 
A  broad 
B  long 
E  short 
I    long 
I    short 
O  long 
0  short 


Example. 

Fate 

Fat 

Far 

Fan 

Mete 
Mgt 
Pine 
Pin 

Note 
N5t 


Element. 

a 
a 
e 
i 

i 

6 
5 


Example.   Element. 


0  long  and 
close 

U  long  Tube 

U  short  Tub 

U  middle  or 

obtuse 
U  short  and  i  -r,.. 

obtuse      ) 

01  andOY     Boil 
OUandOW    Bound 


M6ve 


Full 


m 
oa 


EQUIVALENTS. 


J  short  and  Obtuse,  i 
I     like  ii  in  Fiir     j 

like  E  long 
<  short  and  obtuse, 
I     like  ii  in  Fiir 

like  A  broad 

like  U  short 


Her 

e 

U     like  0  in  Move 

Rtlle 

t 

Machine 

i 

Y      like  I  long 

Type 

f 

Sir 
Nor 

1 

0 

Y  like  I  short 

V  j  short  and  obtuse, 
^    \     likeuinFUr 

symbol 
j  Myrtle 

Sin 

6 

EW  like  U  long 

New 

ew 

The  following  vowel  sounds  cannot  be  easily  pronounced  alone,  as  distinct 
elements,  so  as  to  be  distinguished  from  some  of  the  other  sounds. 


Name.  Examples. 

A  long  before  R  .  .  .  .  Fire,   piir. 
A  intermediate    ....  FSst,   brinch. 
A  slight  or  obscure   .  .  Liair,   palgKje. 
E  Uke  A  long  before  R  Hgir,  thgre. 
E  slight  or  obscure   .  .  Brier,  fu§l. 


Name.  Examples. 

I  slight  or  obscure  .  Ruju,  abiljty. 
O  slight  or  obscure  .  Actor,  cpnfess. 
U  slight  or  obscure  .  Sulphur,  famous. 
Y  slight  or  obscure  .  Truly,     envy. 


TABLE  OF  CONSONANT  SOUNDS. 


A  Consonant  is  a  letter  which  cannot  be  Bounded,  or  but  imperfectly,  with- 
out the  aid  of  a  vowel ;  or,  it  represents  a  sound  that  is  modified  by  some 
interruption  during  its  passage  through  the  organs  of  speech. 

Vocal  Consonants  are  those  uttered  with  a  slight  degree  of  vocality,  but 
less  than  that  of  a  vowel.    They  are  formed  with  a  vibration  of  the  vocal  cords. 

Aspirate  Consonants  are  those  in  which  the  pure  breath  alone  is  heard. 
They  are  formed  without  any  vibration  of  the  vocal  cords. 

VOCAL  CONSONANTS.i 


Name. 

Example.      ] 

Blsmxnt. 

Name. 

Example.      El 

EMENT 

B 

Babe 

b 

R    (trilled)   Rap 

r 

D 

Did 

d 

R  (untrilled)  Nor 

r 

Ghard 

Gag 

g 

TH    soft 

Thine 

th 

J 

Joy 

j 

V 

Valve 

V 

L 

Lull 

1 

W 

Wine 

w 

M 

Maim 

m 

Y 

Yes 

y 

N 

Nun 

n 

Z 

Zeal 

z 

NG 

Sing 

ng 

ZH  (or  Z) 

Azure 

zh 

ASPIEATE  C 

ONSONANTS. 

•> 

CH 

Church 

ch 

T 

Tent 

t 

F 

Mfe 

f 

S 

Seal 

s 

H^ 

Hold 

h 

SH 

Shine 

sh 

K 

Kirk 

k 

TH    sharp 

Thin 

th 

P 

Pipe 

P 

EQUITY 

LLENTS. 

C  soft,  like  B 

^ease 

S 

S  soft,  like  z 

Muse 

9 

C  hard,  like  k 

jBake 

£ 

S  like  zh 

Vision 

s 

Ch  hard,  like  k 

JBhasm 

ch 

Q  like  k 

Coquette 

q 

Ch  soft,  like  sh 

ghaise 

9h 

X  likeks 

Tax 

X 

G  soft,  like  j 

<^iant 

g 

X  like  gz 

Exalt 

? 

Ph  like  f 

Seraph 

ph 

Q  has  the  sound  of  h,  and  is  always  followed  by  ?*,  which,  in  this  position,  com- 
monly has  the  sound  ofio,  but  is  sometimes  silent. 
WH  is  an  aspirated  w,  pronounced  as  if  written  hw. 


1  Sometimes  called  Subvocals,  or  Subtonics. 

2  H  sounded  before  a  vowel,  is  an  expulsion  of  the  breath  after  the  organs 
are  in  a  position  to  sovind  the  vowel. 


AN 


INTRODUCTORY   TREATISE 


ELOCUTION; 


PRINCIPLES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS,  ARRANGED  FOR  TEACHING 
AND  PRACTICE. 


PROF.  MARK  BAILEY, 


INSTRUCTOR     OF     ELOCUTION    IN 


YALE  COLLEGE. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by  Mark  BAILET,  in  the 
Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


PREFACE 


Good  Eeading  includes  that  mastery  of  the  dements  of 
language  and  elocution,  which  teachers  and  scholars  so  rarely 
attain.  Articulation  and  pronunciation  must  be  not  only  dis- 
tinct and  accurate,  but  expressive.  This  last  excellence  can- 
not be  attained  by  merely  enunciating  meaningless  sounds 
and  syllables.  Too  many  such  mechanical  exercises  kill  the 
instinctive  use  and  recognition  of  expressive  tones  which  the 
child  brings  to  school,  and  in  the  end  completely  divorce  his 
elocution  from  the  spirit  and  sense  to  which  it  should  be 
inseparably  wedded,  and  which  alone  can  inspire  natural 
expression.  The  child  feels  and  thinks  before  he  talks.  Na- 
ture, in  her  teaching,  begins  with  the  idea,  and  in  her  repeated 
efforts  to  express  the  idea  more  perfectly,  perfects  the  elemen- 
tary parts  of  language  and  elocution.  Let  us  enlist  Nature  into 
our  service  by  following  her  teachings.  Let  even  the  earliest 
lesson  in  reading  be  enlivened  by  the  aid  of  some  idea  famil- 
iar and  interesting  to  the  child.  He  knows  the  thing,  the 
idea,  ''man,"  or  *'  sun,"  he  has  spoken  the  word  a  thousand 
times,  and  he  is  pleased  to  learn  that  the  mysterious  art  of 
reading  is  only  conscious  talking,  —  that  he  is  but  analyzing, 
and  sounding,  and  naming  the  unknown  parts  of  a  familiar 
whole.     But  especially  with  the  advanced  classes,  (which  are 


XVI  PREFACE. 

expected  to  use  the  following  work  on  elocution,)  would  the 
author  commend  this  practical  method  of  improving  the  parts, 
with  the  immediate  purpose  of  giving  better  expression  to  the 
whole,  —  of  practising  and  perfecting  the  execution  of  the 
dead  elements  of  elocution,  in  the  life-giving  light  of  inspiring 
ideas. 

"  There  is  in  souls  a  sympathy  with  sounds." 

This  analogy  in  Nature  between  tones  and  sentiments  is  the 
central  source  from  which  the  author  has  drawn  the  simple 
principles  and  hints  which  are  giVen  to  aid  teachers  in  their 
laudable  efforts  to  cultivate  in  the  school-room,  and  thus 
everywhere,  a  more  natural  and  expressive  elocution. 

The  art,  embracing  the  expression  of  the  whole  range  of 
human  thoughts  and  feelings,  from  the  earliest  lispings  of  the 
child  to  the  most  impassioned  and  finished  utterance  of  a  G-ar- 
rick  or  Siddons,  covers  too  wide  a  field,  and  reaches  too  high  a 
point  in  human  culture,  it  is  evident,  to  be  all  compressed 
into  these  few  introductory  pages ;  nor  would  the  highest  re- 
finements of  the  art  be  practicable  in  the  school-room  if  they 
could  be  here  given.  Yet,  such  initial  steps  have  been  taken, 
and  clearly  marked  out  in  the  right  direction  toward  the  high- 
est art,  it  is  hoped,  as  will  tempt  many  to  go  on  further  in 
this  interesting  study  of  nature  and  art,  till  they  see  for  them- 
selves to  what  "  rich  ends"  our  "most  poor  matters  point." 


PART    I 


ELOCUTION  is  the  vocal  expression  of  ideas  with  the 
speaking  tones,  as  distinguished  from  the  singing. 

Good  Elocution,  in  reading  or  speaking,  is  the  expression 
of  ideas  with  their  appropriate  or  natural  speaking  tones  of 
the  voice. 

But  how  can  we,  intelligently,  even  attempt  to  give  correct 
vocal  expression  to  what  is  not  first  clearly  understood  and 

APPRECIATED  ? 

Hence  arises  at  the  very  outset,  as  a  prerequisite  to  any 
possible  excellence  in  elocution,  the  necessity  of  a  thorough 
ANALYSIS  and  study  of  the  ideas  or  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
to  be  read. 

Let,  then,  each  lesson  in  reading  begin  with  \h\^  prepara- 
tory work  of  "  Logical  Analysis.''* 

method  of  analysis. 

In  any  other  art,  if  we  wish  to  conceive  and  express  things 
clearly,  we  inquire,  first,  for  the  genus,  or  the  general  kind  ; 
secondly,  for  the  species,  or  the  individuals,  under  that  kind. 

If,  for  example,  we  were  asked  to  paint  a  group  of  animals 
or  flowers,  — 

1.  We  should  ascertain  what  kind  of  animals  or  flowers  is 
meant,  —  the  horse,  or  the  lion ;  the  rose,  or  the  lily. 

2.  We  should  determine  i^iQ  peculiarities  of  the  individuals, 

3.  We  should  feel  obliged  to  learn  something  of  the  general 
colors  we  are  to  paint  with,  their  various  shades,  and  how  to 
blend  these  into  expressive  lights  and  shades.  Then  only  should 
we  feel  prepared  to  take  \hQ  first  step  successfully  in  the  art  of 
painting. 

JO 


XVlll  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Let  US,  in  the  kindred  art  of  elocution,  adopt  the  same  natural 
method  and  order  of  inquiry. 
Let  us  determine,  — 

1.  The  general  spirit  or  hind  of  the  piece  to  be  read. 

2.  The  important  individual  ideas. 

3.  The  relative  importance  of  the  ideas. 

1.  We  must  determine  the  kind  or  general  spirit,  that 
we  may  know  what  general  or  standard  force,  and  time,  &c., 
of  voice  we  should  read  with.  There  must  be  some  stand- 
ard to  guide  us,  or  we  cannot  tell  how  much  emphasis  to  give 
to  any  idea.  "  Eead  the  emphatic  words  louder,''  says  the 
teacher.  Louder  than  what  ?  "  Louder  than  the  unemphatic 
words."  'S>Mihow  loud  are  they,  the  unemphatic  words?  This 
question  must  be  answered  Jirst,  or  we  have  no  standard  to 
go  by ;  and  the  answer  to  this  question  is  determined  always 
by  the  general  spirit  of  the  piece.  If  that  is  unemotional, 
the  standard  force  required  is  moderate  ;  if  bold,  the  stand- 
ard force  is  hold,  or  loud;  if  subdued  or  pathetic,  the  stand- 
ard force  is  subdued,  or  soft, 

2.  We  must  determine  the  important  individual  ideas,  that 
we  may  know  what  words  need  extra  force  or  emphasis. 

3.  We  must  determine  the  relative  importance  of  these 
ideas,  that  we  may  know  how  much  emphatic  force  we  must 
give  to  each  respectively,  so  as  to  bring  out  in  our  reading, 
clearly,  the  exact  Sind  full  meaning  of  the  author. 

But  it  may  be  objected  that  this  method  of  catching  the  spirit 
of  the  author,  first,  is  too  difficult  for  the  school-room,  because 
there  are  so  many  emotions  not  easily  distinguished  or  remem- 
bered. Yet,  since  this  natural  order  of  inquiry,  if  it  can  be 
made  practicable,  will  make  all  our  after  progress  so  much  more 
intelligent  and  rapid,  and  since  the  chief  charm  of  all  the  best 
pieces  for  expressive  reading,  lies  in  the  emotional  part, 
let  us  see  if  we  cannot  sufficiently  simplify  these  difficulties, 
by  grouping  nearly  all  the  emotions  into  a  few  representative 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XIX 

classes,  which  will  be  definite  enough  for  all  ordinary  purposes 
in  teaching  elocution,  and  which  can  be  easily  recognized 
by  any  one  who  can  distinguish  joy  from  sorrow,  or  a  mere 
matter-of-fact  idea  from  impassioned  sentiment. 

As  appropriate  answers  to  our  first  question  in  analysis,  let 
pupils  become  familiar  with  some  such  simple  and  comprehen- 
sive classes  as  the  following :  — 

DIFFERENT   KINDS   OR   CLASSES    OF    EMOTIONS. 

1.  ^Unemotional,''  or  matter-of-fact,  (whether  didactic, 
narrative,  or  descriptive). 

2.  'Bold,'  (including  the  very  emphatic  passages  in  the 
first  class,  and  all  declamatory  pieces). 

3.  *  Animated  or  joyous,'  (including  all  lively,  happy,  or 
beautiful  ideas). 

4.  *  Subdued  or  pathetic,'  (including  all  gentle,  tender, 
or  sad  ideas). 

5.  *M)ble,'  (including  all  ideas  that  are  great,  grand, 
sublime,  or  heroic). 

6.  *  Grave,'  (including  the  deep  feelings  of  solemnity, 
reverence,  &c.). 

7.  'Ludicrous  or  sarcastic,'  (including  jest,  raillery, 
ridicule,  mockery,  irony,  scorn,  or  contempt). 

8.  'Impassioned,'  (including  all  very  bold  pieces  and 
such  violent  passions  as  anger,  defiance,  revenge,  &c.). 

"When  selections  are  of  a  mixed  character,  —  some  passages 
'matter-of-fact,'  some  'bold,'  some*  noble,'  &c.,  —  the  first 
question  must  be  asked  as  often  as  there  is  a  marked 
change. 

Having  clearly  analyzed  any  given  example,  we  are  ready 
intelligently  to  ask  and  answer  the  first  elocutionary  question, 
viz.,  How  can  we  read  the  same  so  as  to  express  with  the 
voice  the  *  general  spirit '  and  the  *  individual  ideas  '  with 
the  'relative  importance'  of  each?  This  brings  us  to  the 
subject  of, — 


XX  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

VOCAL     EXPRESSION. 

Before  analyzing  the  elements  of  vocal  expression,  let  pupils 
be  made  to  understand,  as  clearly  as  possible,  this  broad,  gen- 
eral principle,  viz.,  that  expression  in  Nature  or  Art  depends 
on  some  kinds  of  lights  and  shades,  as  of  color,  or  form,  or 
sound. 

Let  them  see  that  the  clean  white  wall  or  the  blackboard,  has 
no  expression,  just  because  it  has  but  one  shade  of  one  color, 
while  the  painted  map  on  the  wall  expresses  something,  because 
it  has  different  shades  of  various  colors. 

They  will  then  the  more  clearly  understand  that  the  true 
expression  of  thoughts  and  feelings  in  reading  depends  on 
using  the  right  lights  and  shades  of  the  voice.  That  a  monot- 
onous to7ie  gives  no  more  expression  to  the  ear  than  the  one 
monotonous  color  does  to  the  eye. 

All  our  lights  and  shades  of  expression  in  elocution  are  to 
be  made  out  of  the  following  :  — 

ELEMENTS    OF    VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

1.  *  Force,^  with  all  its  natural  variety,  from  moderate 
to  louder  or  softer. 

2.  *  Time,'  with  its  changes  from  moderate  to  faster  or  slow- 
er movement,  also  with  its  longer  or  shorter  quantity  2bndpauses. 

3.  *  Slides,'  *  rising'  and  'falling,'  2t,n(l  'circumflex,'  vmdi 
all  these  as  moderate,  or  longer  or  shorter. 

4.  'Pitch,'  with  its  variety  of  'hey -note'  'compass,'  and 


5.  '  Volume,'  with  more  or  less  'fulness '  of  tone. 

6.  *  Stress,'  or  the  different  kinds  of  force,  as  *  abrupt,'  or 
'smooth,'  or  as  given  to  diSevent parts  of  a  syllable. 

7.  *  Quality,'   as  'pure'  and  resonant,  or  'impure'  and 
aspirated. 

Let  us  now  study  and  practice  the  principles  for  the  right 
use  of  each  one  of  these  elements  of  vocal  expression,  in  Part  II. 


PART   II 


PEINCIPLES    AND    ILLUSTKATIONS    OF    THE   ELE- 
MENTS   OE   VOCAL  EXPEESSION. 


FORCE. 


As  in  our  analysis  of  the  spirit  and  sense  of  each  passage, 
we  have  always  two  quite  diflferent  questions  to  ask,  viz., 
What  is  the  general  spirit,  and  what  the  relative  importance 
of  the  individual  ideas  f  so  in  our  analysis  of  each  one  of  the 
elements  of  vocal  expression,  we  have  the  same  general  and 
individual  inquiries  to  make : 

1.  What  general  degree    of  force  will  best   express  the 

*  general  spirit '  of  the  piece  ? 

2.  Taking  this  general  force  as  our  '  standard '  degree  of 
loudness  or  softness  to  he  given  to  the  unemphatic  words,  how 
much  additional  force  must  we  give  to  the  emphatic  words, 
in  order  to  bring  out,  in  our  reading,  the  relative  importance 
of  the  diflferent  ideas  ? 

PRINCIPLE    FOR   STANDARD    FORCE. 

Determine  the  *  standard  force '  for  the  unemphatlc 
words  by  the  *  kind  '  or  *  general  spirit '  of  the  piece. 
If  the  kind  is  *  unemotional,'  the  standard  force  is 

*  moderate,^ 

If  the  kind  is  <  bold,'  the  standard  force  Is  *  loudJ' 
If  the  kind  is  *  pathetic  or  subdued,'  the  standard 
force  Is  <  soft  J' 


XXU  INTRODUCTOKY    TREATISE. 


PRINCIPLE    FOR    RELATIVE    OR   EMPHATIC    FORCE. 

Taking  the  '  standard  force '  for  the  unemphatic 
words,  give  additional  force  to  the  emphatic  ideas, 
according  to  their  relative  importance. 

"  Learning  is  better  than  wealth ; 
Culture  is  better  than  learning  ; 
Wisdom  is  better  than  culture." 

ANALYSIS. 

The  'general  spirit'  or  'kind*  is  '  unemotionaU  The 
*  standard  force'  is,  therefore,  *  moderate.'  The  words  ''better" 
and  "wealth  "  in  the  first  line  must  have  just  enough  addi- 
tional {orce  to  distinguish  them  from  the  unemphatic  words 
"is"  and  "than."  "Learning"  is  more  important  than 
"  wealth,"  and  must  have  enough  more  force  than  "  wealth  " 
to  express  its  relative  importance.  "  Culture  "  is  more  impor- 
tant than  "learning,"  and  must  therefore  be  read  with  more 
force.  "  Wisdom  "  is  still  more  important  than  "  culture,"  and 
must  be  read  with  still  more  force,  to  distinguish  it  as  the 
most  important  of  all. 

Hence,  to  read  this  simple  paragraph  naturally,  that  is, 
to  express  distinctly  the  general  spirit  and  the  relative 
importance  of  the  different  ideas,  we  need  five  distinct  de- 
grees  of  force. 

Let  us  mark  the  lea^t  degree  of  emphatic  force  by  italics, 
the  second  by  small  capitals,  the  third  by  large  capitals,  the 
fourth  by  larger  capitals,  and  express  the  same  in  reading. 

"  Learning  is  better  than  wealth  ;  * 

CULTUEE  is  better  than  learning  ; 
^^^ISDOM  is  better  than  CULTUEE." 

'  Unemotional'  examples  for  '  moderate  '  standard  force, 

1.  "  I  am  charged  with  amUtion.  The  charge  is  true, 
and  I  GLORY  in  its  truth.  Who  ever  achieved  anything  great 
in  letters,  arts,  or  armSf  who  was  not  ambitious  ?     Ocesar  was " 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXlll 

not  more  ambitious  than  Cicero.  It  was  but  in  another  way. 
All  greatness  is  born  of  ambition.  Let  the  ambition  be  a 
NOBLE  one,  and  who  shall  blame  it  ?  " 

2.  "  TYiQ  plumage  of  the  mocking-bird,  though  none  of  the 
hmneliest,  has  nothing  gaudy  or  brilliant  in  it ;  and  had  he 
nothing  else  to  recommend  him,  would  scarcely  entitle  him  to 
notice ;  but  his  figure  is  well-proportioned,  and  even  handsome. 
The  ease,  elegance,  and  rapidity  of  his  movements,  the  anima- 
tion of  his  eye,  and  the  intelligence  he  displays  in  listening, 
and  laying  up  lessons  from  almost  every  species  of  the  feath- 
ered creation  within  his  hearing,  are  really  surprising,  and 
mark  the  peculiarity  of  his  genius." 

8.     **  HhxQQ  poets,  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn  : 
The  first  in  majesty  of  thought  surpassed ; 
The  next  in  gracefulness  ;  in  BOTH,  the  last." 

[Unmarked  Examples.*] 

4.  *'  Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way  ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Find  us  further  than  to-day. 

**  Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing. 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate  ; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

5.  "  In  every  period  of  life,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  employments  of  the  human  mind. 
But  in  youth,  there  are  circumstances  which  make  it  produc- 

*  Some  examples  under  Force,  Time,  and  Slides  are  given  without  elo- 
cutionary marks,  that  teachers  and  pupils  may  exercise  their  own  judgment 
and  taste  in  analyzing  and  reading  them  according  to  the  principles. 


XXIV  INTKODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

tive  of  higher  enjoyment.  It  is  then,  that  everything  has  the 
charm  of  novelty;  that  curiosity  and  fancy  are  awake,  and 
that  the  heart  swells  with  the  anticipations  of  future  eminence 
and  utility." 

'  Bold  '  examples  for  *  loud*  standard  force. 

1.  "  Sir,  we  have  done  everything  that  could  be  done,  to 
avert  the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  petitioned  ; 
we  have  remonstrated  ;  we  have  supplicated  ;  we  have  pros- 
trated ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored  its  inter- 
position to  ARREST  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  ministry  and 
parliament.  Our  petitions  have  been  slighted ;  our  remon- 
strances have  produced  additional  violence  and  insult ;  our 
supplications  have  been  disregarded;  and  we  have  been 
SPURNED,  with  contempt,  from  the  foot  of  the  throne ! " 

2.  **  My  friends,  our  country  must  be  free  !     The  land 

Is  never  lost,  that  has  a  son  to  right  her. 

And  here  are  troops  of  sons,  and  loyal  ones ! 

Strong  in  her  children  should  a  mother  be : 

Shall  ours  be  helpless,  that  has  sons  like  us  ? 

God  SAVE  our  NATIVE  land,  whoever  pays 

The  ransom  that  redeems  her !     Now  what  wait  we  ? 

For  Alfred's  word  to  move  upon  theybe  .^ 

Upon  him  then  !     Now  think  ye  on  the  things 

You  most  do  love  !     Husbands  diudi  fathers,  on 

Their  wives  and  children  ;  lovers  on  their  beloved  ;  I  ' 

And  ALL  upon  their  COUNTEY  !  " 

3.  "  The  gentleman,  sir,  has  misconceived  the  spirit  and 
tendency  of  Northern  institutions.  He  is  ignorant  of  North- 
ern character.  He  has  forgotten  the  history  of  his  country. 
Preach  insurrection  to  the  Northern  laborers  ?  Who  are  the 
Northern  laborers  ?  The  history  of  your  country  is  their 
history.  The  renown  of  your  country  is  their  renown.  The 
brightness  of  their  doings  is  emblazoned  on  its  every  page. 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXV 

Where  is  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Princeton,  and  Tren- 
ton, and  Saratoga,  and  Bunker  Hill,  but  in  the  North  ?  And 
what,  sir,  has  shed  an  imperishable  renown  on  the  names  of 
those  hallowed  spots,  but  the  blood,  and  the  struggles,  the 
high  daring,  and  patriotism,  and  sublime  courage  of  Northern 
laborers  ?  The  whole  North  is  an  everlasting  monument  of 
the  freedom,  virtue,  intelligence,  and  indomitable  indepen- 
dence of  Northern  laborers  ?  Go,  sir,  go  preach  insurrection 
to  men  like  these  !  " 

4.  "  Our  Fatherland  is  in  danger  !  Citizens  !  to  arms !  to 
arms  !  Unless  the  whole  Nation  rise  up,  as  one  man,  to  de- 
fend itself,  all  the  noble  blood  already  shed  is  in  vain ;  and, 
on  the  ground  where  the  ashes  of  our  ancestors  repose,  the 
Kussian  knout  will  rule  over  an  enslaved  People  !  We  have 
nothing  to  rest  our  hopes  upon,  but  a  righteous  God,  and  our 
own  strength.  And  if  we  do  not  put  forth  that  strength,  God 
will  also  forsake  us.  Hungary's  struggle  is  no  longer  our 
struggle  alone.  It  is  the  struggle  of  popular  freedom  against 
tyranny.  In  the  wake  of  our  victory,  will  follow  liberty  to 
the  Italians,  Germans,  Poles.  With  our  fall,  goes  down  the 
star  of  freedom  over  all." 

Examples  of  the  '  subdued  or  pathetic  '  hind  for  '  soft ' 
standard  force. 

1.  "  Little  Nell  was  dead.  No  sleep  so  beautiful  and  calm, 
so  free  from  trace  of  pain,  so  fair  to  look  upon.  She  seemed 
a  creature  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God,  and  waiting  for  the 
breath  of  life  ;  not  one  who  had  lived  and  suffered  death. 
Her  couch  was  dressed  with  here  and  there  some  winter-ber- 
ries and  green  leaves,  gathered  in  a  spot  she  had  been  used  to 
favor.  *  When  I  die,  put  near  me  something  that  has  loved 
the  light,  and  had  the  sky  above  it  always.'  Those  were 
her  words." 

2.  "  But  Bozzarts  fell, 
Bleeding  at  every  vein.^ 


XXVI  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

"  His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile,  when  rang  their  proud  hubrah, 

And  the  red  field  was  won : 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 

ILike powers  at  set  of  sun." 

3.  **  I  have  known  deeper  wrongs.     I,  that  speak  to  ye, 

I  had  a  brother  once,  a  gracious  boy, 
Full  of  all  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope,  — 
Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy,  — there  was  the  look 
Of  Heaven  upon  his  face,  which  limners  give 
To  the  beloved  disciple.     How  I  loved 
That  gracious  boy  !     Younger  by  fifteen  years. 
Brother  at  once,  and  son !     He  left  my  side, 
A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheeks,  —  a  smile 
Parting  his  innocent  lips.     In  one  short  hour. 
The  pretty,  harmless  boy  was  slain  !  " 

4.  "  There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 

A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found ; 
They  softly  lie  and  sweetly  sleep, 
Low  in  the  ground. 

"  The  storm  that  sweeps  the  wintry  sky, 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose, 
Than  summer  evening's  latest  sigh, 
That  shuts  the  rose." 

*  Soft  force '  is  also  appropriate  for  the  '  grave '  kind  of  sen- 
timents, and  'loud  force'  for  the  'joyous'  and  'noble,'  and 
'  very  loud  force '  for  the  '  impassioned ; '  but  since  other  ele- 
ments of  the  voice,  such  as  'time,'  'slides,'  'quality'  &c.,  have 
more  characteristic  prominence  than  'force '  in  the  finished 
expression  of  these  classes,  we  shall  be  more  likely  to  secure 
naturalness  in  the  end,  if  we  call  attention  first  to  the  most 
characteristic  elements. 


INTKODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXVU 

TIME. 

*  Time^  has  the  same  general  and  relative  use  as  *  Force.' 

PRINCIPLE    FOR   STANDARD   TIME. 

Determine  the  '  standard  time '  by  the  *  general  spirit' 
of  the  piece. 

If  the  general  spirit  is  *  unemotional,'  the  standard 
time  is  naturally  *  moderate.^ 

If  the  general  spirit  is  *  animated  or  joyous,'  the 
standard  time  is  ^  fast  J 

If  the  general  spirit  is  '  grave,'  *  subdued  or  pa- 
thetic,' or  '  noble,'  the  standard  time  is  <  slow  J 

PRINCIPLE   FOR   RELATIVE   OR   EMPHATIC    TIME. 

Taking  the  *  standard  time '  for  the  unemphatic  words, 
give  additional  time  to  the  emphatic  ideas,  according  to 
their  relative  importance. 

EXPLANATION. 

'Emphatic  time^  has  two  forms.  1.  That  of  actual  sound, 
or  'quantity.^     2.  That  of  rest,  or  'pause.* 

When  an  emphatic  idea  is  found  in  a  word  whose  accented 
syllable  is  long,  give  most  of  the  emphatic  time  in  long  quan- 
tity, with  only  a  short  pause  after  the  word.  When  the  sylla- 
ble to  be  emphasized  is  short,  give  to  it  only  so  much  quantity 
as  good  taste  in  pronunciation  will  allow,  and  the  residue  of 
the  required  time  in  a  pause  after  the  word ;  thus  holding 
the  attention  of  the  mind  on  the  idea  for  the  full  time  demanded 
by  the  principle. 

When  extraordinary  emphasis  of  time  is  required,  long 
pauses  must  be  added  to  long  quantity. 

Thus  far,  *  time '  harmonizes  with  *  force '  in  principle 
and  practice.  But  '  time '  is  of  additional  value  to  us.  It 
furnishes  one  of  the  primary  requisites  to  all  intelligible 
reading,  viz: 


XXVUl  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE, 


APPROPRIATE     PAUSES. 


The  first  and  great  use  of  *  pauses '  is  to  separate  the  ideas 
from  each  other,  so  as  to  preserve  distinctly  to  the  eye  on  the 
Written  page,  and  to  the  ear  in  reading,  the  individuality  of 
each,  together  with  its  relation  to  those  before  and  after  it. 

Second,  pauses  are  necessary  to  give  the  reader  frequent 
opportunities  for  inhaling. 

The  grammatical  pauses  only  imperfectly  answer  these  pur- 
poses. But  the  additional  elocutionary  pauses  which  the  spirit 
and  sense  may  demand,  are  anticipated  by  our  •'  Principle  for 
relative  or  emphatic  time,"  which  makes  jpawses  a  natural  j^ar^ 
of  expressive  emphasis  in  reading. 

PRINCIPLE    FOR    STANDARD    PAUSES. 

Determine  the  '  standard  pause'  by  the  '  general  spir- 
it '  of  the  piece. 

If  the  general  spirit  is  *  unemotional/  the  standard 
pause  is  *  moderate,'' 

If  the  general  spirit  is  *  animated  or  joyous,'  the 
standard  pause  is  *  short. ^ 

If  the  general  spirit  is  '  grave,'  or  *  subdued  or  pa- 
thetic,' the  standard  pause  is  *  longJ* 

PRINCIPLE  FOR  RELATIVE  PAUSES. 

Give  the  '  standard  pause '  after  each  distinct,  un- 
emphatlc  idea,  and  give  additional  time  to  the  pauses 
after  the  empJiatic  and  independent  Ideas,  according  to 
their  relative  importance    and  independence. 

EXPLANATION. 

As  the  '  standard  time '  for  the  movement  and  pauses  is 
usually  the  same,  let  one  perpendicular  line  |  be  the  mark 
for  both.  Let  any  additional  number  of  lines  indicate  addi- 
tional time,  or  emphatic  *  quantity  '  or  ^ pauses.^  Let  the 
half  line  '  indicate  a  time  less  than  the  standard.  This 
time  is  needed  in  reading  properly  all  parenthetical  clauses, 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXlX 

whicli  are,  from  their  very  nature,  less  important  even  than 
the  unemphatic  parts  of  the  principal  sentences. 

*  Unemotional '  examples  for  '  moderate  '  standard  time. 

1.  "  The  young  man,  |  it  is  often  said, '  has  genius  \  \  enough,  | 
if  he  would  only  study.  \  \  Now  the  truth  is,  |  as  I  shall  take 
the  liberty  to  state  it,  '  that  the  genius  \\  will  |||  study ;  \\  it 
is  that  I  in  the  mind  |  which  does  \\  study:  |  that  is  the  very 
nature  ||  of  it.  |  I  care  not  to  say  |  that  it  will  always  use 
hooks.  II  All  study  \\  is  not  reading,  \\  any  more  than  all 
reading  \\  is  study.  \\  Attention  |||  it  is,  —  ||  though  other 
qualities  belong  to  this  transcendent  power,—  i  ATTENTION ||  1 1 
it  is,  I  that  is  the  very  soul  |||  oi genius  ;  ||  not  the  fixed  eye,  || 
not  the  poring  over  a  hooh,  ||  but  the  fixed  thought."  ||| 

ANALYSIS. 

The  piece  is  'unemotional,^  and  should  be  read,  therefore, 
with  *  moderate^  '  standard  time  '  for  *  movement'  and  ' pausesJ* 

"  The  young  man  "  is  unemphatic,  and  should  be  marked 
and  read  with  the  *  standard  time.'  The  clause,  "  it  is  often 
said,"  is  really  parenthetical :  it  forms  no  essential  part  of 
the  sense  or  construction  of  the  principal  sentence.  It  is  for 
that  reason  of  less  importance  than  the  unemphatic  words  of 
the  principal  sentence.  It  should  therefore  be  read  with  less 
than  'moderate'  or  'standard  time.'  The  idea  in  "genius" 
is  emphatic,  and  should  be  read  with  enough  more  time  (as 
well  as  force)  than  "  young  man"  to  express  its  greater  rela- 
tive importance.  The  accented  syllable  is  long  in  "genius." 
The  emphatic  time  may  be  given,  therefore,  mostly  in  quan- 
tity,  with  a  short  pause  after  the  word.  "Enough"  needs 
only  the  moderate  pause  after  it,  to  separate  it  from  the  con- 
ditional idea,  "if  he  would  only  study."  "  Study"  is  as  em- 
phatic as  "  genius,"  but  the  accented  syllable  is  short  ;  hence, 
the  emphatic  time  on  this  word  must  be  given  in  short  quan- 
tity, and  a  longer  pause  after  it  to  fill  out  the  time.  "  Now 
the  truth  is,"  requires  'moderate'  time,  as  it  is  unemphatic. 
"  As  I  shall  take  the  liberty  to  state  it,"  requires  less  than 
moderate  time  and  force,  as  it  is  of  less  importance,  being 
parenthetical.  "  That  the  genius  "  is  emphatic,  and  demands 
more  than  moderate  time.     "Will"  is  still  more  important. 


XXX  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

and  demands  three  lines  to  mark  its  relative  time  in  reading. 
«•  Study  "  is  emphatic  in  the  first  degree,  and  needs  only  two 
lines  to  mark  its  time.  —  Thus  analyze  all  the  following  ideas 
and  selections ;  and  mark,  in  reading  them,  the  relative  im- 
portance or  emphasis  of  each,  by  the  '  time  '  as  well  as  by 
the  '  force  '  of  the  voice.  Further  on  in  the  piece  above,  we 
come  to  the  great  positive  idea,  **  attention,"  which  must  be 
doubly  emphasized  ;  and  as  it  is  repeated  for  emphasis,  it  then 
demands /owr  lines  to  mark  its  superlative  importance. 

There  are  few  readers  or  speakers  who  make  as  good  use  of 
*  time '  as  of  *  force.'  Yet  '  time '  gives  as  expressive  lights 
and  shades  as  '  force,'  and  should  be  varied  as  much,  according 
to  the  same  principle.  In  reading  'grave,'  '  subdued  or  pa- 
thetic,' and  '  noble  '  sentiments,  time  is  far  more  prominent 
than/orce,  and  is  thus  a  nobler  element  of  emphasis.  Let  the 
example  be  read  many  times,  to  fix  in  the  reader's  mind  the 
principle,  and  the  habit  of  applying  it  correctly. 

2.  "  What  polish  is  to  the  diamond,  manner  is  to  the  indi- 
vidual. It  heightens  the  value  and  the  charm.  The  manner 
is,  in  some  sense,  the  mirror  of  the  mind.  It  pictures  and 
represents  the  thoughts  and  emotions  within.  We  cannot 
always  be  engaged  in  expressive  action.  But  even  when  we  are 
silent,  even  when  we  are  not  in  action,  there  is  something  in 
our  air  and  manner,  which  expresses  what  is  elevated,  or  what 
is  low ;  what  is  human  and  benignant,  or  what  is  coarse  and 
harsh. 

"  The  charm  of  manner  consists  in  its  simplicity,  its  grace, 
and  its  sincerity.     How  important  the  study  of  manner !  " 

This  example  demands  *  slower '  standard  time  than  the  one 
above,  because  the  'general  spirit'  is  nobler.  The  emphatic 
quantity  zxA  pauses  are  proportionately  longer. 

3.  "  Such  I  was  Grace  Darling,  1 1  —  one  of  the  heroines  |  |  | 
of  humanity,  —  1 1  whose  name  |  is  destined  to  live  \  \  as  long  as 
the  sympathies  ||  and  affections  ||  of  humanity  |||  endure.  || 
Such  calm  |  heroism  |||  as  hers,  ||  —  so  generously  ||  exerted 
for  the  good  |  of  others,  —  1 1  is  one  of  the  noblest  |  |  |  attributes 
of  the  soul  II  of  man.  |     It  had  no  alloy  of  blind  |  aniinal  ]J 


INTEODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXXI 

passion,  |  like  the  bravery  of  the  soldier  \\  on  the  field  of 
battle,  II  but  it  was  spiritual,  ||  celestial,  |||  and  we  may 
reverently  add,  |  GODLIKE."  |||| 

Examples  of  the  '  animated  or  joyous '  kind,  for   ^fast ' 
^standard  time,  and  '  short '  standard  pauses. 

["  The  Voice  of  Spring."] 

1.  "  I  come !  II  I  come !  |||  ye  have  called  me  |  long!  || 

I  come  I  o'er  the  mountains  ||  with  light  |  and  song!  || 
Ye  may  trace  |  my  step  |  o'er  the  wakening  |  earth,  || 
By  the  winds  ||  which  tell  |  of  the  violet's  ||  birth,  | 
By  the  primrose  stars  1 1  in  the  shadowy  grass,  1 1 
By  the  green  leaves  ||  opening  ||  as  I  pass.  || 

"  From  the  streams  and  founts  I  have  loosed  the  chain, 
They  are  sweeping  on  to  the  silvery  main, 
They  are  flashing  down  from  the  mountain  brows, 
They  are  flinging  spray  o'er  the  forest-boughs. 
They  are  bursting  fresh  from  their  sparry  caves ; 
And  the  earth  resounds  with  the  joy  of  waves ! " 

2.  "  Then  fancy  ||  her  magical  j  pinions  |  spread  wide,  || 

And  bade  the  young  dreamer  |  in  ecstacy  ||  rise;  || 
Now,  far,  |  far  behind  him  1 1  the  green  waters  1 1  glide,  | 
And  the  cot  i  of  his  forefathers  ||  blesses  ||  his  eyes,  j 

"  The  jessamine  ||  clambers  |  in  flower  |  o'er  the  thatch,  | 
And  the  swallow  1 1  sings  sweet  1 1  from  her  nest  |  in  the 
wall ;  j 
All  trembling  |  with  transport,  ||  he  raises  the  latch,  | 
And  the  voices  |  of  loved  ones  ||  reply  to  his  call."  || 

3.  "Everyone  is  doubtful  what  course  to  take,  —  every 
one  1 1  but  Caesar  1  1 1  He  ||  causes  the  banner  1 1  to  be  erected,  1 1 
the  charge  1 1  to  be  sounded,  |  the  soldiers  at  a  distance  |  to  be 
recalled,  — 1|  all  in  a  moment.  |     He  runs  |  from  place  to 


XXXll  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

place  ;  1 1  his  whole  frame  1 1 1  is  in  action ;  1 1  his  words,  1 1  his 
looks,  II  his  motions,  ||  his  gestures,  ||  exhort  his  men  |  to 
remember  |  their  former  valor.  ||  He  draws  them  up,  |  and 
causes  the  signal  to  be  given, —  |  all  in  a  moment.  |  He  seizes 
a  buckler  j  from  one  of  the  private  men,  —  |  puts  himself  1 1  at 
the  head  |  of  his  broken  troops,  —  1 1  darts  into  the  thick  1 1  of 
the  battle,  —  ||  rescues  ||  his  legions,  ||  and  overthrows  |||  the 
enemy!"  || 

♦  Grave '  examples  for  *  slow '  standard  time. 

1.  "  But  where,  ||  thought  I,  |  is  the  crew?  ||  Their  strug- 
gle I  has  long  been  over;  — 1|  they  have  gone  down  |  amidst 
the  roar  of  the  tempest ;  —  1 1  their  bones  lie  whitening  |  in  the 
caverns  of  the  deep.  1 1  Silence  —  |||  oblivion  —  1 1 1 1  like  the 
waves,  1 1  have  closed  over  them ;  1 1  and  no  one  can  tell  1 1  the 
story  of  their  end.  1 1 1 

"  What  sighs  ||  have  been  wafted  after  that  ship!  ||  What 
prayers  j  |  oflFered  up  |  at  the  deserted  fireside  of  home  !  1 1  How 
often  I  has  the  mistress,  ||  the  wife,  ||  and  the  mother  ||  pored 
over  the  daily  news,  ||  to  catch  some  casual  intelligence  |  of 
this  rover  of  the  deep !  1 1  How  has  expectation  1 1  darkened  | 
into  anxiety,  — 1|  anxiety  |  into  dread,  —  |||  and  dread  ||  into 
despair!  |{|j  Alas!  ||  not  one  |  memento  |  shall  ever  return  | 
for  love  1 1  to  cherish.  1 1  All  that  shall  ever  be  known,  |  is,  j 
that  she  sailed  from  her  port,  ||  and  was  never  ||  heard  of  || 
more."  1 1 II 


*  Grave '   example  for  very  *  slow   time  *   and  very 


"  It  must  II  be  so.  II  Plato,  ||  thou  reasonest  well !  || 
Else  I  whence  |  this  pleasing  hope,  1 1  this  fond  desire, 
Thisl  onging  1 1 1  after  immortality  ?  1 1 1| 
Or  whence  |  this  secret  dread  |||  and  inward  horror  ||| 
Of  falling  into  naught?  ||||  Why  |  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  I  on  herself,  ||  and  startles  ||  at  destruction?  |||i 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXXUl 

'Tis  the  Divinity  |||  that  stirs  |  within  us:  || 

'T  is  Heaven  ||  itself  |||  that  points  out  an  hereafter,  |[ 

And  intimates  |  Eternity  1 1 1  to  man.  1 1 

Eternity !  —  { 1 1 1  thou  pleasing,  —  1 1  dreadful  thought !  "  1 1 1  ( 

*  Pathetic '  example  for  '  slow '  standard  time, 

3.  **  Alas !  II  my  noble  boy!  |||  that  thou  |  shouldst  die!  ||| 
Thou,  II  who  wert  made  |  so  beautifully  fair!  ||| 
That  death  1 1  should  settle  |  in  thy  glorious  eye,  1 1 1 
And  leave  his  ||  stillness  |||  in  thy  clustering  hair!  ||| 
How  could  he  ||  mark  thee  ||||  for  the  silent  tomb,  ||{ 
My  proud  |  boy,  ||  Absalom !"  |||| 

THE    SLIDES. 

In  perfectly  natural  speech,  the  voice  rises  or  falls  on  each 
unemphatic  syllable  through  the  interval  of  one  tone  only,  but 
on  the  accented  syllable  of  an  emphatic  word  it  rises  or  falls 

MORE  THAN  ONE  TONE. 

This  last  is  called  the  inflection  or  *  slide '  of  the  Voice. 
The  '  slides '  are  thus  a  part  of  emphasis,  and  as  they  give 
the  right  direction  and  limit  to  *  force'  and  *  time,'  they  are  the 
crownhig  part  of  perfect  emphasis. 

When  contrasted  ideas,  of  equal  importance,  are  coupled, 
nothing  but  the  '  contrasted  slides '  can  give  the  proper  dis- 
tinctive emphasis.  The  slides  also  furnish  to  elocution  its 
most  ample  and  varied  lights  and  shades  of  emotional  expres- 
sion. 

These  slides  are  'rising,'  marked  thus  (/)  ;  or  'falling,' 
marked  thus  (N) ;  or  both  of  these  blended,  in  the  'rising' 
circumflex  and  the  '  falling '  circumflex,  marked  respectively 
thus  (^)  and  thus  (^). 

The  '  rising '  and  '  falling '  slides  separate  the  great  mass 
of  ideas  into  two  distinct  classes  ;  the  frst  comprising  all 
the  subordinate,  or  incomplete,  or  as  we  prefer  to  name  them, 
the  negative  ideas  ;  the  second  comprising  all  the  principal,  or 
complete,  or  as  we  shall  call  them,  the  positive  ideas. 

The  most  important  parts  of  what  is  spoken  or  written  are 
those  which  affirm  something  positively,  such  as  the  facts  and 
truths  asserted,  ihQ  principles,  sentiments,  and  actions  enjoined^ 


XXXIV  IiVTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

with  the  illustrations,  and  reascms,  and  appeals  which  enforce 
them. 

All  these  may  properly  be  grouped  into  one  class,  because 
they  all  should  have  the  same  kind  of  slide  in  reading. 

This  class  we  call  •  positive  ideas.' 

So  all  the  other  ideas  which  do  not  affirm  or  enjoin  any- 
thing positively/,  which  are  circumstantial  and  incomplete,  or  in 
open  contrast  with  the  positive,  all  these  ideas  may  be  prop- 
erly grouped  into  another  single  class,  because  they  all  should 
have  the  same  kind  of  slide. 

This  class  we  call  '  negative  ideas.' 

Grant  to  the  words  '  positive  '  and  *  negative '  the  compre- 
hensive meaning  here  given  to  them,  and  let  the  distinction 
between  the  two  classes  be  clearly  made  in  the  preparatory 
analysis,  and  it  will  be  vastly  easier  to  understand  and  teach 
this  most  complicated  and  difficult  part  of  elocution,  the  right 
use  of  the  rising  and  falling  slides. 

For,  then,  the  one  simple  principle  which  follows  will  take 
the  place,  and  preclude  the  use  of,  all  the  usual  perplexing 
rules,  with  their  many  suicidal  exceptions. 

PRIIfCIPLE    FOR   RISING   OR   FALLING    SLIDES. 

Positive  ideas  should  have  the  *  falling  *  slide ; 
! NEGATIVE  ideas  should  have  the  '  rising '  slide. 

Examples  for  the  rising  and  falling  slides. 

"The  war  must  go  on.  We  must  fight  it  thr6ugh.  And  if 
the  war  must  go  on,  why  put  off  longer  the  declaration  of  inde- 
pendence ?  That  measure  will  strengthen  us.  It  will  give  us 
character  abroad. 

**  The  cause  will  raise  up  armies ;  the  cause  will  create  navies. 
The  people,  the  people,  if  we  are  true  to  them,  will  carry  lis, 
and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously  through  this  struggle. 
Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  increased 
cotirage.  Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  restoration 
of  privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered  immuni- 
ties, held  under  a  British  king,  set  before  them  the  glorious 
object  of  entire  independence,  and  it  will  breathe  into  them 
anew  the  breath  of  life. 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXXV 

"  Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the  present,  I  see  the  bright- 
ness  of  the  future,  as  the  sun  in  heaven.  We  shall  make  this 
a  glorious,  an  immortal  day.  When  we  are  in  our  graves,  our 
children  will  honor  it.  They  will  celebrate  it  with  thanksgiv- 
ing, with  festivity,  with  bonfires,  and  illuminations.  On  its 
annual  return,  they  will  shed  tears,  copious,  gushing  tears,  not 
of  subjection  and  slavery,  not  of  agony  and  distress,  but  of 
exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of  joy." 

QUESTIONS. 

Questions,  like  other  ideas,  are  negative,  or  positive,  or 
compound,  having  one  negative  and  one  positive  idea. 

DIRECT    QUESTIONS. 

The  direct  question  for  information  affirms  nothing.  Hence 
it  is  read  with  the  rising  slide,  not  because  it  may  be  answered 
by  yes  or  no,  but  because  it  is  in  its  nature  negative. 

The  answer  is  positive,  and,  for  that  reason,  is  read  with 
the  falling  slide. 

'*  Do  you  see  that  beautiful  stdr  ?  "     **  Yes ; " 
"Is  n't  it  splendid?" 

The  speaker  is  positive,  in  the  last  question,  that  his  friend 
will  agree  with  him.  This,  and  all  such,  must  be  read,  there- 
fore, with  the  falling  slide. 

'*  I  said  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better. 
Did  I  say  better  ?  " 

"  He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Kome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill ; 
Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious?" 

**  You  all  did  see,  that,  that  on  the  Liipercal, 
I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown  ; 
Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,  ye  who  tread  the  sods  of  yon  sacred  height,  is 
Warren  dead  ?     Can  you  not  still  see  him,  not  pale  and  pros- 


XXXVl  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

trate,  the  blood  of  his  gallant  heart  pouring  out  of  his  ghastly 
wound,  but  moving  resplendent  over  the  field  of  honor,  with 
the  rose  of  heaven  upon  his  cheek,  and  the  fire  of  liberty  in 
his  eye  ? 

**  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger?  Will  it  be  the  next  week, 
or  the  next  year?" 

This  reading,  with  the  falling  slide  on  ''year,"  changes  the 
sense,  as  it  makes  one  idea  positive,  and  the  answer  must  be 
"next  week,"  or  ''next  year."  But  both  ideas  are  negative 
in  Henry's  speech ;  both  must  have  the  rising  slide,  then, 
according  to  the  principle. 

"Will  it  be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year?  Will  it  be 
when  we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a  British  guard  shall 
be  stationed  in  every  hoiise  ?  " 

"  Is  this  a  time  to  be  gloomy  and  sad, 

When  our  mother  Nature  laughs  around  ; 
When  even  the  deep  blue  heavens  look  glad, 

And  gladness  breathes  from  the  blossoming  ground  ?  " 

"  *  Will  you  ride,  in  the  carriage,  or  on  hdrseback  ? '  *  I  pre- 
fer to  walk.'  " 

"  *  Will  you  read  to  us,  a  piece  of  prose,  or  poetry  ? ' 
'Allow  me  to  sing  instead.'  " 

"  Will  you  study  music,  or  French? " 

All  the  ideas  are  negative  in  the  last  questions.  Change 
the  sense,  and  make  one  idesb  positive  in  each  question,  and  we 
have  one  falling  slide  in  each. 

"  Will  you  ride  in  the  carriage,  or  on  horseback  ?  " 

"  Will  you  read  to  us  a  piece  of  pr6se,  or  poetry  ?  " 

**  Will  you  study  music,  or  French  ?  " 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXXVU 

INDIRECT    QUESTIONS.      . 

"  When  are  you  going  to  Europe  ?  " 

The  prominent  idea  in  this,  is  not  the  real  interrogative, 
the  idea  of  time  in  "when,"  but  the  positive  idea,  *'You  are 
going  to  Europe."  Hence  this,  and  all  such  questions  must 
be  read  with  the  falling  slide. 

But  if  the  interrogative  is  made  the  prominent  and  em- 
phatic idea,  (as  when,  the  answer  not  being  heard,  the  ques- 
tion is  repeated,)  the  rising  slide  must  be  given. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  Europe?  " 

**  Why  is  the  E6rum  crowded? 
What  means  this  stir  in  Eome?  " 

ADDRESS. 

The  address  also  is  positive  or  negative.  It  is  negative, 
and  read  with  the  rising  slide  or  suspension  of  the  voice,  when 
it  is  only  formal  and  unemphatiCf  as  "  Friends,  I  come  not 
here  to  talk." 

When  emphatic  it  is  positive  and  demands  the  falling  slide, 
as  in  the  respectful  opening  address  to  any  deliberative  body 
or  public  assembly.  *'  Mr.  President,"  "  Ladies  and  Gentle- 
men." 

POSITIVE   ADDRESS    AND   QUESTIONS. 

**  Tell  me,  man  of  military  science,  in  how  many  months 
were  the  Pilgrims  all  swept  off  by  the  thirty  savage  tribes, 
enumerated  within  the  early  limits  of  New  England  ?  Tell 
me,  politician,  how  long  did  this  shadow  of  a  colony,  on  which 
your  conventions  and  treaties  had  not  smiiled,  languish  on  the 
distant  coast  ?  Student  of  history,  compare  for  me  the  baffled 
projects,  the  abandoned  adventures  of  other  times,  and  find  a 
parallel  of  this." 

*'  Was  it  the  winter's  storm  beating  upon  the  houseless  heads 

of  women  and  children  ;  was  it  hard  labor  and  spare  meals ; 

—  was  it  disease,  —  was  it  the  tomahawk,  —  was  it  the  deep 

malady  of  a  blighted  hope,  a  ruined  enterprise,  and  a  broken 

d 


XXXVlll  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

heart,  aching  in  its  last  moments  at  the  recollection  of  the 
loved,  and  left  beyond  the  sea ;  was  it  some  or  all  of  these 
united  that  hurried  this  forsaken  company  to  their  melancholy 
fate  ?  " 

These  questions  must  be  read  with  the  'falling '  slide,  to  give 
the  idea  positively  that  each  one  of  the  enumerated  cases  was 
sufficient  to  produce  the  supposed  result.  The  surprise  is  thus 
made  all  the  great&r  in  the  next  sentence,  which  must  be  read 
as  an  earnest  negative  with  the  long  *  rising '  slide. 

"  And  is  it  possible  that  neither  of  these  causes,  that  not  all 
combined,  were  able  to  blast  this  bud  of  hope  ?  Is  it  possible 
that  from  the  beginning  so  feeble,  so  frail,  so  worthy  not  so 
much  of  admiration  as  of  pity,  there  has  gone  forth  a  progress 
so  steady,  a  growth  so  w5nderful,  an  expansion  so  ample,  a 
reality  so  important,  a  promise  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  so  glorious !  " 

When  surprise  thus  deepens  into  astonishment,  as  it  fre- 
quently does  in  its  climax,  the  interrogative  form  should  be 
changed  to  the  exclamatory,  which  demands  the  falling  slide. 

"  Partakers  in  every  peril,  in  the  glory  shall  we  not  be  per- 
mitted to  participate  ?  And  shall  we  be  told  as  a  requital  that 
we  are  estranged  from  the  noble  country  for  whose  salvation 
our  life-blood  was  poured  out !  " 

CONTRASTED    SLIDES. 

When  ideas  are  contrasted  in  couples,  the  rising  and  falling 
slides  must  be  contrasted  in  reading  them.  Contrasted  slides 
may  also  sometimes  be  used  for  greater  variety  or  melody. 

EXAMPLE. 

1.  "  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my 
hand  and  heart  to  this  vote." 

"  But,  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured,  be  assured  that 
this  declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure,  and  it  may  cost 
blood;  but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will  richly  compensate  for  both." 

"  Suppose  that  you  see,  at  once,  all  the  hours  of  the  day 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XXXIX 

and  all  the  seasons  of  the  year,  a  morning  of  spring,  and  a 
morning  of  autumn,  a  night  brilliant  with  stars,  and  a  night 
obscure  with  clouds  ;  —  you  will  then  have  a  more  just  notion 
of  the  spectacle  of  the  universe.  Is  it  not  wondrous,  that 
while  you  are  admiring  the  sun  plunging  beneath  the  vault  of 
the  west,  another  observer  is  beholding  him  as  he  quits  the 
region  of  the  east,  —  in  the  same  instant  reposing,  weary,  from 
the  dust  of  the  evening,  and  awaking  fresh  and  youthful,  in 
the  dews  of  morn !  " 

CIRCUMFLEX    SLIDES. 

straight  means  right,  crooked  means  wrong :  hence  right 
ideas  demand  the  right  or  straight  slides,  while  wrong  or 
crooked  ideas  demand  the  crooked  or  *  circumjlex  slides.^ 

PRINCIPLE. 

All  sincere  and  earnest,  or,  in  other  words,  all  upright 
and  downright  ideas  demand  the  straight,  or  upright  and 
downright  slides. 

All  ideas  which  are  not  sincere  or  earnest,  but  are 
used  in  jest,  or  irony,  in  ridicule,  sarcasm,  or  mockery, 
in  insinuation  or  double-meaning,  demand  the  crooked 
or  '  circumflex  slides.^ 

The  last  part  of  the  circumflex  is  usually  the  longer,  and 
always  the  more  characteristic  part.  Hence  when  the  last 
part  of  this  double  slide  rises  it  is  called  the  *  risijig  cir- 
cumflex ;  '  when  the  last  part  falls,  it  is  called  the  'falling 
circumflex.' 

The  '  rising  circumflex '  should  be  given  to  the  negative,  the 
*  falling  circumflex'  to  the  positive  ideas  of  jest,  irony,  &c. 
When  these  ideas  are  coupled,  in  contrast  the  circumflex  slides 
must  be  in  contrast  also  to  express  them. 

Example  of  jest. 

Marullus.     You,  sir  ;  what  trade  are  you  ? 
2d  Citizen.     Truly,  sir,  in  respect  of  a  fine  workman,  I 
am  but,  as  you  would  say,  a  cobbler. 


xl  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Mar.     But  what  trade  art  thou  ?     Answer  me  directly. 

2d  Cit.  a  trade,  sir,  that,  I  hope,  I  may  use  with  a  safe 
conscience ;  which  is,  indeed,  sir,  a  mender  of  bad  soles. 

Mar.  What  trade,  thou  knave?  thou  naughty  knave, 
what  trade  ? 

2d  Cit.  Nay,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  be  not  out  with  me :  yet, 
if  you  be  out,  sir,  I  can  mend  you. 

Mar.  AVhat  mean'st  thou  by  thkt  ?  Mend  me,  thou 
saucy  fellow  ? 

2d  Cit.     Why,  sir,  cobble  you. 

Flavius.     Thou  art  a  cobbler,  art  thou  ? 

2d  Cit.     Truly  sir,  all  that  I  live  by  is  with  the  aVl. 

Flav.  But  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day?  Why 
dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets  ? 

2d  Cit.  Truly,  sir,  to  wear  out  their  shoes,  to  get  myself 
into  more  work.  But,  indeed,  sir,  we  make  holiday,  to  see 
C«CE^5ar,  and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumph." 

In  the  last  sentence,  the  citizen  drops  his  Jesting,  and  speaks 
in  earnest:  and  therefore  with  the  straight  slides. 

Examples  of  sarcasm  and  irony, 

2.  "  Now,  sir,  what  was  the  conduct  of  your  own  allies  to 
Poland  ?  Is  there  a  single  atrocity  of  the  French  in  Italy, 
in  Switzerland,  in  Egypt  if  you  please,  more  unprincipled  and 
inhuman  than  that  of  Russia,  Austria,  and  Prussia,  in  Poland  ? 

**0,  but  you  'regretted  the  partition  of  Poland!'  Yes, 
regretted! — you  regretted  the  violence,  and  that  is  kll  you 
did." 

3.  They  bo'ast  they  come  but  to  improve  our  state,  enlarge 
our  thoughts  and  free  us  from  the  yoke  of  error !  Yes,  they 
will  give  enlightened  freedom  to  our  minds,  who  are  themselves 
the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice,  and  pride !  They  offer  us  pro- 
tection !  yes,  such  protection  as  vultures  give  to  lambs  —  cover- 
ing and  devouring  them !  Tell  your  invaders  we  seek  no  change 
—  and  least  of  all  such  change  as  they  WQuld  bring  us ! " 


INTEODUCTOKY    TREATISE.  xli 

4.  **  Good  Lord !  when  one  man  dies  who  wears  a  Crown, 
How  the  earth  trembles,  —  how  the  nations  gape, 
Amazed  and  awed !  —  but  when  that  one  man's  victims, 
Poor  worms,  unclothed  in  purple,  daily  die 

In  the  grim  cell,  or  on  the  groaning  gibbet, 

Or  on  the  civil  field,  ye  pitying  souls 

Drop  not  one  tear  from  your  indifferent  eyes!" 

5.  Cassius.     Urge  me  no  more!  I   shall  forget  myself; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health  ;  tempt  me  no  further. 

BrtTJTUS.     Away,  slight  man ! 

Cas.     Is  't  possible  ? 

Bku.     Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 
Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler  ? 
Shall  I  be  frightened  when  a  madman  stares  ? 

Cas.     0  ye  gods  !  ye  gods !  Must  I  endure  all  this  ? 

Brtj.     All   this?  Ay,   more.     Fret  till  your  proud  heart 
break ; 
Go  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are. 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble  !     Must  I  budge  ? 
Must  I  observe  you  ?     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor  ? 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen, 
Though  it  do  split  you ;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth,  —  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  are  waspish ! 

Cas.     Is  it  come  to  this ! 

Bru.     You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so  ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.     For  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  nobler  men. 

LENGTH    OF     SLIDES. 

The  length  of  the  slides  depends  on  the  *  general  spirit  *  or 
*  kind '  of  what  is  read. 
d^ 


xlii  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

PRINCIPLE. 

If  the  general  spirit  is  '  unemotional,'  the  slides  are 
'  moderate.* 

If  the  general  spirit  is  *  bold,'  'joyous,'  or  'noble,' 
the  slides  are  '  long.* 

If  the  general  spirit  is  '  subdued  or  pathetic '  or 
'  grave,'  the  sHdes  are  '  short.* 

Examples  for  the  *  moderate  *  slide,  or  in  the  definite  language 
of  music,  the  "  Third.''* 

**  Can  I  speak  with  you  a  mdment  ?  "     **  Certainly." 

"  The  ancient  Spartans  were  not  less  remarkable  for  their 
bravery  in  the  field  of  battle,  than  for  brevity  and  wit  in  their 
answers.  We  have  a  memorable  instance  of  their  national 
spirit,  in  the  reply  of  the  old  warrior,  who  was  told  that  the 
arrows  of  the  Persian  host  flew  so  thick  as  to  darken  the  sun. 
*  So  much  the  better,'  was  his  answer ;  *  we  shall  enjoy  the_ 
advantage  of  fighting  in  the  shade.'  " 

Examples  for  the  *  long*  slide  or  the  "  Fifth.** 

"  What  but  liberty 
Through  the  famed  course  of  thirteen  hundred  years, 
Aloof  hath  held  invasion  from  your  hills. 
And  sanctified  their  name  ?     And  will  ye,  will  ye 
Shrink  from  the  hopes  of  the  expecting  world, 
Bid  your  high  honors  stoop  to  foreign  insult, 
And  in  one  hour  give  up  to  infamy 
The  harvest  of  a  thousand  years  of  glory  ? 
Die  —  all  first !  Yes,  die  by  piecemeal ! 
Leave  not  a  limb  o'er  which  a  Dane  can  triumph  I 

"  True  courage  but  from  opposition  grows  ; 
And  what  are  fifty  what  a  thousand  slaves. 
Matched  to  the  virtue  of  a  single  arm 
That  strikes  for  liberty  ?  that  strikes  to  save 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  xlui 

His  fields  from  fire,  his  infants  from  the  sword, 
And  his  large  honors  from  eternal  infamy  ?  " 

"  Ye  men  of  Sweden,  wherefore  are  ye  come  ? 
See  ye  not  yonder,  how  the  locusts  swarm, 
To  drink  the  fountains  of  your  honor  up, 
And  leave  your  hills  a  desert  ?     Wretched  men  I 
Why  came  ye  forth  ?     Is  this  a  time  for  sport  ? 
Or  are  ye  met  with  song  and  jovial  feast, 
To  welcome  your  new  guests,  your  Danish  visitants  ? 
To  stretch  your  supple  necks  beneath  their  feet 
And  fawning  lick  the  dust  ?     Go,  go,  my  countrymen, 
Each  to  your  several  mansions,  trim  them  out, 
Cull  all  the  tedious  earnings  of  your  toil. 
To  purchase  bondage.  —  0,  Swedes  !  Swedes ! 
Heavens !  are  ye  men  and  will  ye  suffer  this  ?  — 
There  was  a  time,  my  friends,  a  glorious  time ! 
When,  had  a  single  man  of  your  forefathers 
Upon  the  frontier  met  a  host  in  arms, 
His  courage  scarce  had  turned ;  himself  had  stood, 
Alone  had  stood,  the  bulwark  of  his  country." 

Example  for  the  ^ short*  slide,  or  the  "  Minor  Third** 

"  Dear,  gentle,  patient,  noble  Nell  was  dead.  Her  little  bird,' 
—  a  poor,  slight  thing  the  pressure  of  a  finger  would  have 
crushed,  —  was  stirring  nimbly  in  its  cage,  and  the  strong 
heart  of  its  child-mistress  was  mute  and  motionless  forever ! 

"Sorrow  was  dead,  indeed,  in  her;  but  peace  and  perfect 
happiness  were  born,  —  imaged  —  in  her  tranquil  beauty  and 
profound  repose. 

•*  Waking,  she  never  wandered  in  her  mind  but  once,  and 
that  was  at  beautiful  music,  which,  she  said,  was  in  the  air ! 
God  knows.     It  may  have  been. 

"  Opening  her  eyes  at  last  from  a  very  quiet  sleep,  she 
begged  that  they  would  kiss  her  once  again.  That  done,  she 
turned  to  the  old  man,  with  a  lovely  smile  upon  her  face,  — 
such,  they  said,  as  they  had  never  seen,  and  never  could  for- 


xllv  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

get  —  and  clung,  with  both  her  arms,  about  his  neck.  She 
had  never  murmured  or  complained ;  but  with  a  qiiiet  mind, 
and  manner  quite  unaltered, — save  that  she  every  day  became 
more  earnest  and  more  grateful  to  them, — faded  like  the  light 
upon  the  summer's  evening." 

PITCH. 

1.  The  *  standard  pitch'  or  'key-note,*  2.  The  'relative 
pitch  '  or  '  melody.' 

The  middle  pitch  is  the  natural  key-note  for  *  unemotional,' 
*  bold,'  and  '  noble '  pieces.  A  higher  pitch  is  the  natural  key- 
note  for  *  animated  and  joyous,'  *  subdued  or  pathetic,'  and  '  im- 
passioned '  pieces.  A  lower  pitch  is  required  for  'grave  '  pieces. 

The  middle  or  conversational  pitch  must  be  used  for  all 
'kinds '  when  pupils  have  not  the  requisite  compass  or  cultiva- 
tion of  voice  to  read  naturally  on  a  hiyher  or  lower  '  key.' 

But  appropriate  variety  of  pitch  on  the  successive  words 
and  syllables,  is  one  of  the  most  essential  and  beautiful  parts 
of  good  reading.  In  perfect  elocution,  it  adds  to  the  eloquence 
oi  expressive  emphasis,  the  musical  charm  of  '  natural  melody.* 

NATURAL    MELODY 

Is  produced  in  part  by  that  agreeable  modulation  of  all  the 
elements  of  expression,  which  the  varied  sense  and  feeling 
demand,  yet  it  chiefly  depends  on  a  pleasing  variation  of  the 
radical  or  opening  pitch,  on  successive  syllables. 

PRINCIPLE. 

1.  Not  more  than  two  or  three  consecutive  syllables 
should  be  given  on  the  same  tone  of  the  **  musical  scale." 

2.  Natural  melody  demands  that  this  frequent 
change  of  pitch  on  the  unemphatic  syllables  shall  be 
only  one  tone  at  a  time. 

The  unemphatic  syllables  for-m  a  kind  of  flexihle  ladder 
connecting  the  emphatic  ideas,  up  and  down  which  we  must 
glide  tone  by  tone,  so  as  to  be  in  the  right  place  to  give  the 
longer  slides  on  the  emphatic  words  without  an  unmelodious 
break  in  the  natural  current  of  the  voice,  which  should  flow  on 
smoothly  through  all  changes,  (ualess  there  is  an  abrupt  break 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  XIV 

in  the  ideas,)  just  as  a  good  road  runs  on  over  ever- varying 
hills  and  vales  without  once  losing  its  smooth  continuity. 

Melody  demands  that  the  pitch  on  consecutive  emphatic 
words  also  be  agreeably  varied. .  Our  limited  space  will  not 
allow  us  to  mark  the  many  possible  permutations  of  pitch, 
which  may  constitute  natural  melody.  We  will  only  repeat, 
the  important  general  principles.  Avoid  monotony,  by  giving 
at  most  only  two  or  three  consecutive  syllables,  on  the  same 
tone. 

Avoid  making  unnatural  changes  of  pitch,  of  more  than  one 
tone  at  a  time. 

COMPASS. 

Turn  up  the  melody  on  the  negative  ideas,  so  that  you  will 
have  room  above  the  key-note,  to  slide  down  easily  on  the 
positive  ideas. 

The  compass  of  voice  which  should  be  used  also  depends  on 
the  *  spirit '  of  the  piece. 

The  most  'joyous'  and  most  'impassioned'  demands  the 
widest  range  of  pitch,   and  the  greatest  natural  variety. 

The  '  unemotional '  demands  only  moderate  compass.  •  The 
*  grave  '  demands  still  less  variety  and  compass.  And  when 
the  '  grave  '  deepens  into  snpernaturcd  aive  or  horror,  by  the 
same  analogy,  we  may  infer  that  natural  variety  or  melody 
gives  place  to  an  unnatural  sameness  of  utterance,  with  just 
that  little  variety  of  all  the  vocal  elements  which  is  necessary 
to  express  the  sense  at  all. 

Example  for  '  middle  pitch  '  and  *  moderate  compass.^ 

"It  is  these  which  I  love  and  venerate  in  England.  I 
should  feel  ashamed  of  an  enthusiasm  for  Italy  and  Greece, 
did  I  not  also  feel  it  for  a  land  like  this.  In  an  American,  it 
would  seem  to  me  degenerate  and  ungrateful,  to  hang  with 
passion  upon  the  traces  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  follow  with- 
out emotion,  the  nearer  and  plainer  footsteps  of  Shakspeare 
and  Milton." 

*  Joyous  '  example  for  *  higher  pitch '  and  ♦  wider  compass.* 

**  There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 

And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 


Xlvi  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry ;  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men. 

A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily,  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell." 

Grave*  example  for  '  lower  pitch*  and  less  than  *  moderate 
compass.* 

"And,  —  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be, 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of,  —  say  I  taught  thee  ; 
Say,  "Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor, 
Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in, 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  missed  it 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruined  me. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition : 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels ;  how  can  man  then, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  't  ? 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's. 
Thy  God's,  and  truth's:  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  0  Cromwell ! 
Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr  !  " 

VOLUME. 

*  Full  volume '  is  the  most  essential  element  in  the  truthful 
expression  of  '  noble  '  sentiment. 

1.  **  Mind  is  the  noblest  part  of  man;  and  of  mind,  vir- 
tue is  the  NOBLEST  distinction.  Honest  man,  in  the  ear  of 
Wisdom,  is  a  grander  name,  is  a  more  high-sounding  title,  than 
peer  of  the  realm,  or  prince  of  the  blood.  According  to  the 
eternal  rules  of  celestial  precedency,  in  the  immortal  heraldry 
of  Nature  and  of  Heaven,  virtue  takes  place  of  all  things.  It 
is  the  nobility  of  angels  1     It  is  the  majesty  of  GOD  1 " 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  xlvll 

In  addition  to  'full  volume,'  'noble'  pieces  demand  slow 
time,  or  long  quantity  and  pauses,  long  slides,  and  loud 
but  smooth- swelling  force  on  the  emphatic  words.  Full 
volume  distinguishes  manly  sentiments  from  the  thin  or  Jine 
tone  of  childlike  emotions. 


2.     "  But  strew  his  ashes  to  the  wind. 

Whose  sword  or  voice  has  served  mankind. 
And  is  he  dead  whose  glorious  mind 

Lifts  thine  on  high  ? 
To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind, 

Is  not  to  die. 

"  Is  't  death  to  fall  for  Freedom's  right? 
He  *s  dead  alone  that  lacks  her  light  I 
And  murder  sullies  in  Heaven's  sight 

The  sword  he  draws :  — 
What  can  alone  ennoble  fight  ? 
A  noble  cause !  " 

STRESS. 

Stress  is  not  the  degree  but  the  kind  of  emphatic  force  we 
use.  The  same  degree  of  loudness  may  be  given  to  a  syllable 
abruptly  and  suddtnly,  as  in  sharp  command,  or  smoothly  and 
gradually,  as  in  the  noble  examples  given  above.  This  sudden 
and  harsh  kind  of  force  we  will  call  '  abrupt  stress ;  '  the 
other  *  smooth  stress. ' 

PRINCIPLE. 

*  Abrupt  stress '  should  be  given  to  all  abrupt  or  harsh 
ideas,  and  pleasant  or  ^smooth  stress'  to  all  good  or 
pleasant  ideas. 

Mere  command  is  abrupt ;  indignation,  anger,  defiance, 
revenge,  &c.,  are  all  abrupt  in  their  very  nature  ;  and,  there- 
fore, must  be  read  with  the  *  abrupt  stress.' 


xlviii  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

ABRUPT    STRESS. 

1.  Impatient  command. 

** Hence!  home  you  idle  creatures,  get  you  home. 
You  Uocks,  you  stones,  you  WOESE  than  senseless  things  I 
Be  ffone  ! 

Kun  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees, 
Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plXgue 
That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude.^* 

The   force  must  be  thrown  with  an  abrupt  jerk  on  the 
emphatic  syllables. 

2.  Anger.     {Loud  as  well  as  '  abrupt '  force  and  *  long 
slides.*) 

•*  Cassius.    That  you  have  wronged  me  doth  appear  in  this ; 
You  have  condemned  and  noted  Lucius  Pella, 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians ; 
"Wherein,  my  letter,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  was  slighted  off. 

Brutus.     You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case. 

Cas.     In  such  a  time  as  this  is  it  not  meet 
That  every  nice  offence  should  bear  its  comment  ? 

Bru.     Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condemned  to  have  an  itching  palm ; 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cas.     I  an  itching  palm  ? 
You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Bru.     The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corruption, 
And  chastisement  does  therefore  hide  his  head. 

Cas.     Chastisement  ? 

Bru.     Eemember  March,  the  ides  of  March  remember. 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice's  sake  ? 
What  villain  touched  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice?     What!  shall  one  of  us, 


INTRODUCTOKY    TREATISE.  xllx 

That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 
But  for  supporting  robbers,  —  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors, 
Tor  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus  ? 
1  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Eoman." 

3.  Defiance.      {Very    'abrupt'    and   *  loud,'    with*  long 

slides.') 

*'  I  have  returned,  not  as  the  right  honorable  member  has 
said,  to  raise  another  storm,  — 1  have  returned  to  protect 
that  constitution,  of  which  I  was  the  parent  and  the  founder, 
from  the  assassination  of  such  men  as  the  honorable  gentle- 
man and  his  unworthy  associates.  They  are  corrupt  —  they 
are  sedItious  —  and  they,  at  this  very  moment,  are  in  a  con- 
spiracy against  their  country  !  Here  I  stand  for  impeachment, 
or  trial !  I  dare  accusation  !  I  defy  the  honorable  gentle- 
man  !  I  defy  the  government  !  I  defy  their  whole  PHA- 
LANX !  Let  them  come  forth!  I  tell  the  ministers  I  will 
neither  give  them  quarter,  nor  take  it !  " 

4.  Indignation. 

"  Who  is  the  man,  that,  in  addition  to  the  disgraces  and 
mischiefs  of  the  war,  has  dared  to  authorize  and  associate  to 
our  arms  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  of  the  savage  ?  — 
to  call  into  civilized  alliance  the  wild  and  inhuman  inhabitant 
of  the  woods?  —  to  delegate  to  the  merciless  Indian  the 
defence  of  disputed  rights,  and  to  wage  the  horrors  of  his 
barbarous  war  against  our  brethren  ?  ]\Iy  lords,  we  are  called 
upon  as  members  of  this  house,  as  men,  as  Christian  men,  to 
protest  against  such  horrible  barbarity." 

SMOOTH   STRESS. 

All  pleasant  and  good  ideas  demand  '  smooth  stress '  or 
force,  free  from  all  abruptness. 


1  INTilODUCTOKY    TREATISE. 

In  'joyous'  pieces,  when  the  time  is  fast,  the  stress  must  be 
given  with  a  lively,  springing  swell  of  the  voice,  which  throws 
the  force  smoothly  on  the  middle  of  the  sound.  Hence  it  is 
called  the  '  median '  stress. 

*  Animated  and  joyous'  examples  for  smooth  stress, 

1.  '*  His  cares  flew  away, 

And  visions  of  happiness  danced  o'er  his  mind. 

"  He  dreamed  of  his  home,  of  his  dear  native  bowers, 
And  pleasures  that  waited  on  life's  merry  morn ; 
While  memory  each  scene  gayly  covered  with  flowers, 
And  restored  every  rose,  but  secreted  its  th5rn." 

In  the  following  example  of  '  noble,'  manly  joy,  the  happy 
median  stress  swells  with  the  same  smooth,  springing  force 
as  above,  but  with  more  fulness  and  longer  quantity  and 
-pauses. 

2.  "  Fellow  Citizens,  —  I  congratulate  you,  —  I  give  you 
joy,  on  the  return  of  this  anniversary.  I  see,  before  and 
around  me,  a  mass  of  faces,  glowing  with  cheerfulness  and 
patriotic  pride.  This  anniversary  animates  and  gladdens 
and  unites  all  American  hearts.  Every  man's  heart  swells 
within  him, — every  man's  port  and  bearing  becomes  some- 
what more  proud  and  lofty,  as  he  remembers  that  seventy-five 
years  have  rolled  away,  and  that  the  great  inheritance  of 
liberty  is  still  his ;  his,  undiminished  and  unimpaired ;  his, 
in  all  its  original  glory  ;  his  to  enjoy,  his  to  protect,  and  his 
to  transmit  to  future  generations." 

*  Subdued '  example  for  gentle  but  happy  median  or 
smooth  stress. 

"At  last,  Malibran  came ;  and  the  child  sat  with  his  glance 
riveted  upon  her  glorious  face.  Could  he  believe  that  the 
grand  lady,  all  blazing  with  jewels,  and  whom  everybody 
seemed  to  worship,  would  really  sing  his  little  song?     Breath- 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  li 

less  he  waited; — the  band,  the  whole  band,  struck  up  a  little 
plaintive  melody.    He  knew  it,  and  clapped  his  hands  for  joy. 

"  And  oh  !  how  she  sung  it !  It  was  so  simple,  so  mourn- 
ful, so  soul-subduing ;  —  many  a  bright  eye  dimmed  with 
tears  ;  and  naught  could  be  heard  but  the  touching  words  of 
that  little  song,  —  oh  !  so  touching ! 

♦'  Little  Pierre  walked  home  as  if  he  were  moving  on  the 
air.  What  cared  he  for  money  now?  The  greatest  singer 
in  all  Europe  had  sung  his  little  song,  and  thousands  had 
wept  at  his  grief. 

"  Thus  she,  who  was  the  idol  of  England's  nobility,  went 
about  doing  good.  And  in  her  early,  happy  death,  when  the 
grave-damps  gathered  over  her  brow,  and  her  eyes  grew  dim, 
he  who  stood  by  her  bed,  his  bright  face  clothed  in  the  mourn- 
ing of  sighs  and  tears,  and  smoothed  her  pillow,  and  lightened 
her  last  moments  by  his  undying  affection,  was  the  little 
Pierre  of  former  days,  —  now  rich,  accomplished,  and  the 
most  talented  composer  of  his  day." 

*  Nohle '  example   for  prolonged,  full-swelling  median  or 
smooth  stress. 

**  We  must  forget  all  feelings  save  the  one  ; 
We  must  behold  no  object  save  our  country ;  — 
And  only  look  on  death  as  beautiful, 
So  that  the  sacrifice  ascend  to  Heaven, 
And  draw  down  freedom  on  her  evermore. 
*  But  if  we  fail  ?  '     They  never  fail,  who  die 
In  a  great  cause  !     The  block  may  soak  their  gore ; 
Their  heads  may  sodden  in  the  sun  ;  their  limbs 
Be  strung  to  city  gates  and  castle  walls  ;  — 
But  still  their  spirit  walks  abroad.     Though  years 
Elapse,  and  others  share  as  dark  a  doom. 
They  but  augment  the  deep  and  sweeping  thoughts 
W^hich  overpower  all  others,  and  conduct 
The  world,  at  last,  to  freedom !  " 


Hi  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Examples  for  the  longest  *  quantity '  and  'fullest  sioelV  of 
the  median  or  smooth  stress. 

"  0  liberty  !  0  sound  once  delightful  to  every  Eoman  ear  ! 
0  sacred  privilege  of  Eoman  citizenship  !  once  sacred,  —  now 
itrampled  on !  " 

•*  Ye  crags  and  peaks,  I  'm  with  you  once  again  I 

0  sacred  forms,  how  proud  you  look ! 
How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  the  sky  ! 
How  huge  you  are  !  how  mighty  and  how  free  I 

"  Ye  guards  of  liberty, 

1  'm  with  you  once  again." 

♦*  The  land  that  bore  you  —  0  I 
Do  honor  to  her  !     Let  her  glory  in 
Your  breeding." 

**  These  are  Thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  ©ood. 
Almighty  !  Thine  this  universal  frame. 
Thus  wondrous  fair  !     Thyself  how  wondrous,  then  !  " 

Example  for  '  noble '  but  happy  median  stress. 

**  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  ;  I  shall  not  want. 
"  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures:  He  leadeth 
me  beside  the  still  waters.     He  restore th  my  soul." 

The  fullest  swell  of  the  median  stress  can  be  given  only  on 
the  hng  syllables.  On  the  short  syllables,  as  in  the  word 
"  liberty,"  this  stress  is  but  partially  felt. 

Sometimes  the  short  syllables  may  be  repeated  in  the  form 
of  the  '  tremor,'  or  trill,  so  as  really  to  give  the  effect  of  a  long 
syllable,  as  in  the  fervent  reverential  joy  of  the  following  line: 

"  0  God  !  thou  hast  blest  me  ;  —  I  ask  for  no  more." 

So,  too,  in  reading  Colerid|fe's  sublime  "  Hymn  to  Mont 
Blanc."  the  word  "  (xod,"  as  it  is  repeated  with  cumulating 
praise,  may  be  given  by  a  skilful  vocalist  with  a  tremulous 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  lili 

swell  on  the  short  vowel,  which  very  much  ennobles  the 
expression.  Yet  as  this  is  too  difl&cult  a  point  for  readers  in 
general  to  execute  well,  all  that  should  he  insisted  on,  is,  that 
the  short  syllable  be  spoken  with  as  much  fulness  as  its  quan- 
tity will  allow,  and  *  smooth  stress '  though  it  cannot  be  pro- 
longed. 

**  Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts ! 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven, 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?     Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?     Who  with  lovely  flowers 
Of  living  blue  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ?  — 
God  !  God  !  the  torrents  like  a  shout  of  nations 
Utter :  the  ice-plain  bursts  and  answers,  God  ! 
God  !  sing  the  meadow  streams  with  gladsome  voice, 
And  pine-groves  with  their  soft  and  soul-like  sound." 

When  this  general  distinction  between  '  abrupt '  and 
'smooth'  stress  is  mastered,  we  may  analyze  'abrupt' 
stress,  and  make  finer   distinctions. 

Dr.  Eush,  Prof.  William  Kussell,  and  many  of  our  best 
later  writers  on  elocution,  call  the  Jirst  part  of  every  sound 
the  "  radical,''  as  it  is  the  radix  or  root  from  which  the  other 
parts  grow.  The  last  part  of  a  sound  they  call  the  "vanish.'^ 
Let  scholars  remember  this  fact,  and  the  technical  terms  for 
Stress  explain  themselves.  The  '  radical  stress '  is  that  em- 
phatic force  given  to  the  *' radical"  ov  Jirst  part  of  a  sound. 
The  'vanishing  stress'  is  that  given  to  the  '' vanish''  or  last 
part.  The  '  compound  stress '  is  that  given  to  both  the  'Jirst ' 
and  *  last '  parts.  The  *  thorough  stress '  is  that  given 
tlwroughly  to  the  whole  of  the  sound.  The  *  median  stress '  is 
that  given  to  the  middle  part.  Now,  all  of  these  but  the  last, 
the  *  median,'  belong  to  '  abrupt  stress.' 

The  *  median '  alone  is  smooth  and  pleasing.  When  scholars 
are  ready  for  more  definite  terms  than  '  abrupt,'  let  them  study 
and  heed  in  practice  the  following  principles :  — 

The  *  radical  stress,'  or  abrupt  force  on  the  very  opening  of 
a  syllable,  is  used  naturally  on  '  commanding  ideas,'  such  as 
hold  statements  and  arguments,  and  in  a  greater  degree  on 
*  indignation,'  and  with  impassioned,  explosive  force  on  *  anger .^ 


liv  INTKODUCTOKY    TREATISE. 

The  'vanisliing  stress,'  that  abrupt  force  which  is  given 
with  a  sudden  yer^  of  the  voice,  on  the  very  last  of  a  syllable, 
is  used  in  nature,  to  express  *  impatience,'  '  defiance,'  '  revenge,^ 
'  contempt,'  '  scorn,'  &c. 

The  '  compound  stress,'  with  abruptness  on  both  the  evening 
and  closing  parts,   is  necessary  to  give  emphatic  '  ridicule,' 

*  sarcasm,'  'insinuation,'  'irony,'  &c. 

The  *  thorough  stress,'  which  sustains  the  opening  boldness 
throughout,  is  appropriate  in  '  hold,  marshal  command.' 

The  *  tremor '  of  the  voice  adds  nervous  intensity  to  the 

*  abrupt  stress ; '  but  it  is  most  effective,  when  inspired  by 
strong  feeling,  with  the  '  smooth '  or  '  median '  stress.  The 
' soft  2iTi6.  slow  ivtmox'  expresses  *j9%'and  'feebleness';  the 
sinooth,  '  rapid  tremor,'  exi^resses  fervent  'joy'  or  '  tenderness' 

Examples  of  '  long  quantity '  and  '  abrupt  force '  on  the 
very  opening  of  the  emphatic  tone  or  the  '  radical'  stress, 

1.  "  Come  one,  come  all !  —  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I." 

2.  "  There  is,  however,  one  man,  who  distinctly  and  au-^ 
daciously  tells  the  Irish  people  that  they  are  not  entitled  to 
the  same  privileges  as  Englishmen,  and  pronounces  them,  in 
race,  identity,  and  religion,  to  be  aliens,  —  to  be  aliens  in 
race,  to  be  aliens  in  country,  to  be  aliens  in  religion  !  Aliens? 
Good  God  !  was  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wellington,  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  did  he  not  start  up  and  exclaim,  '  Hold !  I  have 
seen  the  aliens  do  their  duty  ? '  " 

Examples  of  very  '  long  quantity,'  with  very  loud  '  vanishing 
stress  '  or  *  abrupt  force '  on  the  very  last  part  of  the  emphatic 
tone. 

1.  **  Shame  !  shame  !  that  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 
AVorth  ages  of  history,  —  when  had  you  but  hurled 
One  bolt  at  your  bloody  invader,  that  strife 

Between  freemen  and  tyrants  had  spread  through  the 
world, 
That  then,  —  oh  !  disgrace  upon  manhood !  —  e'en  then 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Iv 

You  should  falter,  should  cling  to  your  pitiful  breath, — 
Cower  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  have  stood  men, 
And  prefer  a  slave's  life  to  a  glorious  death  !  " 

2.  *'  I  saw 

The  corse,  the  mangled  corse,  and  then  I  cried 

Tor  vengeance  !     Eouse,  ye  Komans  !  Bouse,  ye  slaves !  " 

Painful  earnestness,  anxiety,  or  entreaty,  also  demand  the 
*  vanishing  stress^ 

3.  "I  never  heard  entreaties  for  life  poured  forth  with 
such  agony  of  spirit.  He  prayed  but  for  life,  —  for  life  he 
would  give  all  he  had  in  the  world.  It  was  but  life  he  asked, 
life,  if  it  were  to  be  prolonged  under  tortures  and  privations." 

Examples  of  *  compound  stress '  or  '  4i^rupt  force '  on  both 
the  very  first  and  very  last  parts  of  a  syllable.  This  double 
stress  is  only  used  with  the  double  or  circumflex  slides. 

1.  "  What  has  there  been  in  the  conduct  of  the  British 
ministry  to  j  ustify  these  hopes  ?  Is  it  that  insidious  smile  with 
which  our  petition  has  been  lately  received?  Ask  yourselves 
how  this  gracious  reception  of  our  petition  comports  with  those 
warlike  preparations  which  cover  our  waters  and  darken  our 
land.  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and 
reconciliation  ?  Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be 
reconciled,  that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back  our  love  ?  " 

2.  "  Sir,  —  the  atrocious  crime  of  being  a  young  man,  which 
the  honorable  gentleman  has,  with  such  spirit  and  decency, 
charged  upon  me,  I  shall  neither  attempt  to  palliate  nor  deny ; 
—  but  content  myself  with  hoping  that  I  may  be  one  of  those 
whose  follies  cease  with  their  youth,  and  not  of  that  number, 
who,  as  they  have  advanced  in  age,  have  receded  from  virtue, 
and  become  more  wicked  with  less  temptation." 

3.  '*  They  planted  by  your  care  ?  No,  your  oppressions 
planted  them  in  America.     They  nourished  up  by  your  indul- 


IvI  INTRODUCTOr.Y    TREATISE. 

gence  ?  They  grew  by  your  neglect  of  them.  They  protected 
by  your  arms !  They  have  nobly  taken  up  arms  in  your 
defence." 

Examples  of  *  thorough  stress,'  with  a  sustained  hold  force  on 
the  whole  tone. 

1.     "  Strike  —  till  the  last  arm'd  foe  expires, 
Strike  —  for  your  altars  and  your  fires, 
Strike  —  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires, 
God  —  and  your  native  land !  " 

■  2.  Biit  if  ye  are  men,  then  follow  me !  Strike  down  yon 
sentinel,  and  gain  the  mountain  passes ;  and  then  do  bloody 
work  as  did  your  sires  at  old  Thermopylae !  " 

Examples  for  the  ' median  stress'  with  a  smooth  tremulous 
swell. 

First,  the  '  slow  tremor,'  —  as  in  the  feeble,  pathetic  plead- 
ing  of  the  dying  child, —  'very  short  slides,'  and  very  *  soft 
force.' ' 

1.  **  Give  me  three  grains  of  corn,  mother, 

Only  three  grains  of  corn  ; 
It  will  keep  the  little  life  I  have, 

Till  the  coming  of  the  morn. 
I  am  dying  of  hunger  and  cold,  mother, 

Dying  of  hunger  and  cold, 
And  half  the  agony  of  such  a  death 

My  lips  have  never  told." 

2.  "I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know  ; 
Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  —  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me." 

Second,  '  rapid  tremor '  of  joy,  tenderness,  rapture,  or  fer- 
vor. 
1.     **  The  heart  of  the  sleeper  beats  high  in  his  breast ; 

Joy  quickens  his  pulses,  —  his  hardships  seem  o'er, 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Ivli 

And  a  murmur  of  happiness  steals  through  his  rest, — 
0  G-od  !  thou  hast  blest  me ;  I  ask  for  no  more." 

2.  "On  board,  we  hailed  the  lad  beloved, 

With  many  a  manly  shout : 
The  father  drew  with  silent  joy 

Those  wet  arms  round  his  neck, 
And  folded  to  his  heart  his  boy,  — 

Then  fainted  on  the  deck." 

In  fervent  admiration  the  median  stress  may  be  given  with 
the  '  tremulous  swell.' 

Examples  of  full  and  lively  *  median  stress.* 

,1.  ■**  0  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west. 

Through  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best, 
And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapon  had  none, 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar." 

2.  "  But  thou,  0  Hope  !  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure. 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  —  haiL 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong ; 
And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 
.  She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  her  song  I 
And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close ; 
And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair." 

Eapturous  joy,  like  Eomeo's,   should  have  the  longest  and 
smoothest  and  happiest  *  tremulous  median  stress.' 

" But  soft !  what  light  through  yonder  window  breaks? 
It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun ! 


Ivlii  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

"  She  speaks; 
0,  speak  again,  bright  angel !  for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  night,  being  o'er  my  head, 
As  is  a  winged  messenger  of  Heaven 
Unto  the  white-upturned,  wond'ring  eyes 
Of  mortals,  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him, 
When  he  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  clouds. 
And  sails  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air." 

**  0  blessed,  blessed  night !     I  am  afear'd. 
Being  in  night,  all  this  is  but  a  dream 
Too  flattering-sweet  to  be  substantial" 

With  very  *  long  slides,'  and  '  loud  force,'  and  *  high  pitch,' 
the  *  tremvlous  vanishing  stress '  is  natural  and  most  effective 
in  the  following  example  of  impassioned  fear  and  entreaty. 

**  Oh !  save  me,  Hubert,  save  me !  my  eyes  are  out 
Even  with  the  fierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men! 
Alas !  what  need  you  be  so  boist'rous-rough  ? 
I  will  not  struggle  ;  I  will  stand  stone-still. 
Tor  Heaven's  sake,  Hubert !  let  me  not  be  bound  ! 
Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert !  drive  these  men  away 
And  I  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  ; 
I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word. 
Nor  look  upon  the  irons  angerly  ; 
Thrust  but  these  men  away,  and  I  '11  forgive  you, 
Whatever  torment  you  do  put  me  to." 

QUALITY    OP    VOICE. 

Quality  of  voice  is  ^ pure  '  or  *  impure.^ 
It  is  '  pure  '  when  all  the  breath  used  is  vocalized. 
It  is  *  impure '  or  aspirated  when  only  a  part  of  the  breath 
is  vocalized. 

PRINCIPLE. 

*  Pure  quality '  should  be  used  to  express  all  pure 
ideas ;  that  is,  all  good  and  agreeable  ideas. 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  lix 

*  Impure  quality,^  or  aspirated ,  should  be  used  to  ex- 
press all  impure  ideas;  that  is,  all  had  or  disagreeable 
ideas. 

Examples  of  ♦  impure  quality.* 

Painful  earnestness  or  anxiety  demands  this  *  aspirated 
quality  '  with  '  abrupt  vanishing  stress.' 

1.  "  Take  care !  your  very  life  is  endangered ! " 

2.  "  Oh !  't  was  a  fearsome  sight !     Ah  me ! 

A  deed  to  shudder  ait,  —  not  to  see." 

3.  "  While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 

Or  whispering  with  white  lips,  **  The  foe  !  they  come, 
they  come ! " 

4.  "  He  springs  from  his  hammock,  he  flies  to  the  deck,  — 

Amazement  confronts  him  with  images  dire,  — 
Wild  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel  a  wreck : 
The  masts  fly  in  splinters,  l^e  shrouds  are  on  fire  ! 

"  Like  mountains  the  billows  tremendously  swell : 
In  vain  the  lost  wretch  calls  on  mercy  to  sa.ve ; 
Unseen  hands  of  spirits  are  ringing  his  knell. 

And  the  death-angel  flaps  his  broad  wing  o'er  the 
wave." 

Extreme  aspiration  should  mark  the  fear  and  horror  in  the 
following  words  of  Macbeth. 

5.  "I  '11  go  no  more: 
I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done  ; 
Look  on 't  again  I  dare  not." 

Strong  aspiration  and  '  abrupt  radical  stress.' 

6.  **  I  am  astonished,  shocked,  to  hear  such  principles 
confessed,  —  to  hear  them  avowed  in  this  house,   or  in  this 


iX  INTKODUCTORY    TEEATISE. 

country ;  —  principles  equally  unconstitutional,  inhuman,  and 
unchristian !  " 

*  Sold'  and  *  impassioned*  examples  for  very  *  abrupt  stress  * 
and  *  aspirated  quality '  on  the  emphatic  words. 

7.  "It  was  the  act  of  a  coward,  who  raises  his  arm  to  strike, 
but  has  not  the  courage  to  give  the  blow  !  I  will  not  call  him 
villain,  because  it  would  be  unparliamentary,  and  he  is  a  privy 
councillor.  I  will  not  call  him  fool,  because  he  happens  to  be 
chancellor  of  the  exchequer.  But  I  say  he  is  one  who  has 
abused  the  privilege  of  parliament  and  freedom  of  debate,  to  the 
uttering  of  language  which,  if  spoken  out  of  the  house,  I  should 
answer  only  with  a  blow  !  I  care  not  how  high  his  situation, 
how  low  his  character,  or  how  contemptible  his  speech  ;  whether 
a  privy  councillor  or  a  parasite,  my  answer  would  be  a  blow !  " 

8.  **  The  wretch,  who,  after  having  seen  the  consequences 
of  a  thousand  errors,  continues  still  to  blunder,  and  whose  age 
has  only  added  obstinacy  to  stupidity,  is  surely  the  object  of 
either  abhorrence  or  contempt,  and  deserves  not  that  his  gray 
hairs  should  secure  him  from  insult." 

9.  "  If  ye  are  beasts,  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen  waiting 
for  the  butcher's  knife." 

This  quality  of  voice  demands  that  the  aspirates  and  the 
less  resonant  consonants  be  made  very  prominent  in  the  enun- 
ciation, while  the  purer  vowels  and  the  liquid,  pleasant  conso- 
nants reserve  their  prominence  till  pure  tone  is  required. 

All  examples  of  '  aspirated  quality  '  require  abrupt  stress. 

*  Contemptuous  and  ironical '  example. 

10.  **  But  base  ignoble  slaves,  —  slaves  to  a  horde 

Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despots,  lords 
Kich  in  some  dozen  paltry  villages,  — 
Strong  in  some  hundred  spearmen,  —  only  great 
In  that  strange  spell  —  a  name." 


INTRODUCTOEY    TREATISE.  kl 

*  Compound '  abrupt  stress,  with  the  *  circumflex  slide,* 

11.  "  But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 

Caesar  cried,  *  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink  ! ' 

'*  And  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  g6d ;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 
He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And,  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake  :  't  is  true,  this  god  did  shake : 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly  ; 
And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world, 
Did  lose  its  lustre.     I  did  hear  him  groan  ; 
A^,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Komans 
Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 
Alas !  it  cried,  *  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius,' 
As  a  sick  girl.     Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world 
And  bear  the  palm  alone ! 

"  The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars. 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings." 

The  malignant  feelings  of  Cataline  in  the  following  example 
call  for  the  most  'abrupt'  'vanishing'  and  '  compound  stress^ 
with  intensely  '  aspirated  quality' 

12.  "■  What  is  Kome  now  ?     Degenerate,  gross,  defiled, 

The  tainted  haunt,  the  gorged  receptacle. 
Of  every  slave  and  vagabond  of  earth : 
A  mighty  grave  that  Luxury  has  dug 
To  rid  the  other  realms  of  pestilence  ! 

"  I  had  no  chance ;  wherefore  should  I  be  consul  ? 
No ;  Cicero  still  is  master  of  the  crowd. 

/ 


IXU  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Why  not  ?    He  's  made  for  them,  and  they  for  him ; 
They  want  a  sycophant,  and  he  wants  slaves. 

"  But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you  !  here,  I  fling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face  ! 
Your  consul 's  merciful :  — for  this,  all  thanks. 
He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Cataline !  " 

But  when  fear  and  secresy  are  blended  with  malignity,  the 
*  impure  quality  '  is  so  marked  as  to  be  all  but  a  whisper  on 
the  emphatic  words. 

Example  from  "  King  John.'* 

"  King  John.    Good  Hubert !  Hubert !  Hubert !  throw 

thine  eye 
On  yon  young  boy.     I  '11  tell  thee  what,  my  friend. 
He  is  a  very  serpent  in  my  way  ; 
And  wheresoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  doth  tread, 
He  lies  before  me.     Dost  thou  understand  me  ? 
Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Hubert.  And  I  will  keep  him  so. 

That  he  shall  not  offend  your  Majesty. 

K.  John.     Death. 

Hub.     My  lord  ? 

K.  John.     A  grave. 

Hub.     He  shall  not  live. 

K.  John.  Enough. 

I  could  be  merry  now.     Hubert,  I  love  thee ; 
Well,  I  '11  not  say  what  I  intend  for  thee : 
Kemember ! " 

Examples  of  *  pure  quality,'' 

1.  "  That  which  befits  us,  imbosomed  in  beauty  and  won- 
der as  we  are,  is  cheerfulness  and  courage,  and  the  endeavor 
to  realize  our  aspirations  " 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Ixiii 

Example  of  ^  pure  tone,''  with  lively,  median  stress. 

2.  "It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the 
Queen  of  France,  then  the  Dauphiness,  at  Versailles,  and  surely 
never  lighted  on  this  orb,  which  she  hardly  seemed  to  touch, 
a  more  delightful  vision. 

"  I  saw  her  just  above  the  horizon,  decorating  and  cheering 
the  elevated  sphere  she  just  began  to  move  in,  glittering  like 
the  morning-star,  full  of  life,  and  splendor,  and  joy.'* 

*  Lower  pitch '  and  '  slower  time.'  '  Long  quantity,'  and 
prolonged  median  stress. 

3.  "  0 !  what  a  revolution  !  and  what  a  heart  must  I  have 
to  contemplate  without  emotion,  that  elevation  and  that  fall ! 
Little  did  I  dreapi  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  such  dis- 
asters fallen  upon  her,  in  a  Nation  of  gallant  men,  in  a  Nation 
of  men  of  honor,  and  of  cavaliers !  I  thought  ten  thousand 
swords  must  have  leaped  from  their  scabbards,  to  avenge  even 
a  look  that  threatened  her  with  insult. 

"  But  the  age  of  chivalry  is  gone,  and  the  glory  of  Europe 
ifi  extinguished  forever." 

The  following  selection  from  Shelley's  '*  To  a  Skylark,"  is 
full  of  rapturous  beauty,  and  requires  the  'purest  tone '  and 
the  smoothest  and  happiest  'median  stress,'  prolonged  with 
swelling  fulness  on  the  emphatic  words :  — 

4.  **  Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit,  — 

Bird  thou  never  wert,  — 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

"  Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest ; 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire. 


Ixiv  INTllODUCTOEY    TEEATISE. 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest 

"  In  the  golden  lightning 
Of  the  sunken  sun, 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightening, 
Thou  dost  float  and  run. 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

"  All  the  earth  and  air 
With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 
From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  overflowed. 

"  What  thou  art,  we  know  not ; 
What  is  most  like  thee  ? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see, 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

'*  Sound  of  vernal  showers 
On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Eain-awakened  flowers. 
All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  surpass. 

"  Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

'  What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine ; 
I  have  never  heard 
Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

**  Better  than  all  measures 
Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 


INTRODUCTORY    TEEATISE.  Ixv 

That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scomer  of  the  ground  I 

"  Teacn  me  half  the  gladness 
'    That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now." 

*  Noble  '  example  for  'pure  tone^  to  he  given  also  with  full 
median  stress. 

"  We  wish  that  this  column,  rising  towards  heaven  among 
the  pointed  spires  of  so  many  temples  dedicated  to  God,  may 
contribute  also  to  produce,  in  all  minds,  a  pious  feeling  of 
dependence  and  gratitude.  We  wish,  finally,  that  the  last 
object  on  the  sight  of  him  who  leaves  his  native  shore,  ar>d 
the  first  to  gladden  him  who  revisits  it,  may  be  something 
which  shall  remind  him  of  the  liberty  and  glory  of  his  coun- 
try. Let  it  rise  till  it  meet  the  sun  in  his  coming ;  let  the 
earliest  light  of  morning  gild  it,  and  parting  day  linger  and 
play  upon  its  summit." 

Example  of  *  subdued  beauty,^  with  the  same  'pure  quality* 
but  with  '  slower  time,*  'softer  force,'  and  less  lively  '  median 
stress.* 

"  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank! 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears !  soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 

"  Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold  ! 
There  's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold'st, 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings ; 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls !  " 


Ixvi  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Subdued  and  pathetic  '  example  for  'pure  quality,*  *  soft 
force,'  'short  slides,'  and  gentle  'median  stress.' 

**  There's   another, — not  a  sister,  —  in  the   happy  days 

gone  by, 
You  'd  have  known  her  by  the  merriment  that  sparkled  in  her 

eye; 
Tell  her  the  last  night  of  my  life,  (for  ere  the  morn  be  risen, 
My  body  will  be  out  of  pain,  my  soul  be  out  of  prison,)  — 
I  dreamed  I  stood  with  her,  and  saw  the  yellow  sunlight  shine 
On  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Bingen,  —  fair  Bingen  on  the  Khine ! 
I  saw  the  blue  Khine  sweep  along,  —  I  heard,  or  seemed  to 

hear, 
The  German  songs  we  used  to  sing,  in  chorus  sweet  and  clear ; 
And  down  the  pleasant  river,  and  up  the  slanting  hill. 
The  echoing  chorus  sounded,  through  the  evening  calm  and 

still ; 
And  her  glad  blue  eyes  were  on  me  as  we  passed  with  friendly 

talk, 
Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore,  and  well-remembered  walk ; 
And  her  little  hand  lay  lightly,  confidingly  in  mine,  — 
But  we'll  meet  no  more  at  Bingen  —  loved  Bingen  on  the 

Ehine!" 

*  Subdued  example  '  for  very  '  soft  force'  '  short  slides'  and 
gentle  'median  stress,'  and  the  'purest  quality.' 

"  I  thought  to  pass  away  before,  and  yet  alive  I  am ; 
And  in  the  fields  all  round  I  hear  the  bleating  of  the  lamb. 
How  sadly,  I  remember,  rose  the  morning  of  the  year ! 
To  die  before  the  snow-drop  came,  and  now  the  violet 's  here. 
0  sweet  is  the  new  violet,  that  comes  beneath  the  skies, 
And  sweeter  is  the  young  lamb's  voice  to  me  that  cannot  rise, 
And  sweet  is  all  the  land  about,  and  all  the  flowers  that  blow, 
And  sweeter  far  is  death  than  life  to  me  that  long  to  go. 
0  look !  the  sun  begins  to  rise,  the  heavens  are  in  a  glow ; 
He  shines  upon  a  hundred  fields,  and  all  of  them  I  know. 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Ixvii 

0  sweet  and  strange  it  seems  to  me,  that  ere  this  day  is  done, 
The  voice  that  now  is  speaking  may  be  beyond  the  sun  — 
Forever  and  forever ;  all  in  a  blessed  home  — 
And  there  to  wait  a  little  while  till  you  and  Effie  come  — 
To  lie  within  the  light  of  God,  as  I  lie  upon  your  breast  — 
And  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

*  Joyous '  example  for  '"pure  quality  *  and  happy  *  median  stress. 

"  And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 
Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 
And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays : 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might. 
An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light. 
Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 
Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves. 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 
With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives." 

A  striking  example  of  both  qualities  may  be  taken  from  the 
dialogue  between  "  Old  Shylock"  and  "Portia."  The  tones 
of  Shylock' s  voice,  to  express  his  spite  and  revenge,  must  be 
marked  by  the  most  abrupt  '  vanishing  stress'  and  'aspirated 
or  impure  quality  ;  '  while  the  beautiful  sentiments  of  Portia 
demand  the  'smoothest  stress  '  and  'purest  quality.'' 

*'  Portia.     Do  you  confess  the  bond? 

Antonio.     I  do. 

PoR.     Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shylock.    On  what  compulsion  must  I  ?    Tell  me  that. 
1.      PoR.     The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath :  it  is  twice  bless'd ; 


Ixviii  IXTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  liim  that  takes : 

*T  is  mightiest  in  the  mightiest:  it  becomes 

The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown : 

It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself, 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  shew  likest  God*s, 

When  mercy  seasons  justice." 


Having  thus  treated  of,  and*  illustrated  with  various  kinds 
of  pieces,  each  one  of  the  elements  of  elocution,  separately,  let 
us  now  finish  our  work  by  learning  how  all  these  separate 
elements  unite  together  and  blend  in  the  natural  expression  of 
ea£h  '  kind '  of  sentiment. 

«  Unemotional '  pieces  should  have  *  moderate '  '  standard 
force'  and  'time'  and  'slides'  and  'volume,'  'middle  pitch,* 
'  smooth  stress,'  and  '  pure  quality  '  of  voice. 

Unemotional  Example, 
**  There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in  a  taste  for 
the  cultivation  of  forest  trees.  It  argues,  I  think,  a  sweet 
and  generous  nature,  to  have  a  strong  relish  for  the  beauties 
of  vegetation,  and  a  friendship  for  the  hardy  and  glorious  sons 
of  the  forest.  He,  who  plants  an  oak,  looks  forward  to  future 
ages,  and  plants  for  posterity.  Nothing  can  be  less  selfish  than 
this.  He  cannot  expect  to  sit  in  its  shade  and  enjoy  its  shelter; 
tut  he  exults  in  the  idea  that  the  acorn  which  he  has  buried 
in  the  earth  shall  grow  up  into  a  lofty  pile,  and  shall  keep  on 
flourishing  and  increasing  and  benefiting  mankind,  long  after 
he  shall  have  ceased  to  tread  his  paternal  fields." 

'  Bold '  pieces  should  have  '  loud  '  '  standard  force,'  *  long 
slides,'  'moderate  time,'  with  long  quantity  on  the  emphatio 
syllables,  '  middle  pitch,'  '  abrupt  stress,'  and  slightly  '  aspi- 
rated quality.' 

Sold  Example. 

"  Who,  then,  caused  the  strife 
That  crimsoned  Naseby's  field,  and  Marston's  Moor? 
It  was  the  Stuart ;  —  so  the  Stuart  fell ! 


INTKODUCTOKY    TREATISE.  Ixix 

A  victim,  in  the  pit  himself  had  digged ! 

He  died  not,  sirs,  as  hated  kings  have  died, 

In  secret  and  in  shade,  —  no  eye  to  trace 

The  one  step  from  their  prison  to  their  pall : 

He  died  in  the  eyes  of  Europe,  —  in  the  face 

Of  the  broad  Heaven  ;  amidst  the  sons  of  England, 

Whom  he  had  outraged ;  by  a  solemn  sentence, 

Passed  by  a  solemn  Court.     Does  this  seem  guilt  ? 

You  pity  Charles !  't  is  well ;  but  pity  more 

The  tens  of  thousand  honest  humble  men, 

Who,  by  the  tyranny  of  Charles  compelled 

To  draw  the  sword,  fell,  butchered  in  the  field! " 

'Animated  or  joyous' pieces  should  have 'fast  time, 'lively, 
springing  'median  stress,'  'pure  quality,'  'long  slides,'  'high 
pitch,'  and  '  loud  force.' 

Joyous  Example. 
"  You  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me  early,  mother  dear. 
To-morrow  '11  be  the  happiest  time  of  all  the  glad  New- Year ; 
Of  all  the  glad  New- Year,  mother,  the  maddest,  merriest  day ; 
Eor  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o' 
the  May. 

**  I  sleep  so  sound  all  night,  mother,  that  I  shall  never  wake. 
If  you  do  not  call  me  loud  when  the  day  begins  to  break : 
But  I  must  gather  knots  of  flowers,  and  buds  and  garlands  gay. 
For  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o' 
the  May." 

*  Subdued  or  pathetic'  pieces  should  have  '  soft  force,'  '  short 
(or  minor)  slides,'  '  slow  time,'  gentle  'median  stress,'  'pure 
quality,'  'high  pitch,'  and  less  than  'moderate  volume.' 

Subdued  or  Pathetic  Example. 
,"  If  you  're  waking  call  me  early,  call  me  early  mother  dear 
Eor  I  would  see  the  sun  rise  upon  the  glad  New- Year. 
It  is  the  last  New-Year  that  I  shall  ever  see, 
Then  you  may  lay  me  low  i'  the  mould  and  think  no  more  of  me. 


Lxx  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

**  To-night  I  saw  the  sun  set !  he  set  and  left  behind 
The  good  old  year,  the  dear  old  time,  and  all  my  peace  of  mind, 
And  the  New- Year 's  coming  up,  mother,  but  I  shall  never  see 
The  blossom  on  the  blackthorn,  the  leaf  upon  the  tree." 

*  Grave '  pieces  should  have  '  low  pitch,'  *  slow  time,'  with 
'long  quantity  and  pauses,'   'full  volume'   'soft  force'    and 

*  short  slides '  —  also  '  smooth  stress '  and  '  pure  quality  '  when 
the  ideas  are  reverential  or  solemn  merely  —  but  more  or  less 

*  abrupt  stress '  and  '  aspirated  quality '  when  characterized  by 
fear  or  aversion,  as  in  '  dread,'  *  awe,'  and  *  horror.' 

Grave  Example. 

"  Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  —  Death ! 
Come  to  the  mother,  when  she  feels, 
For  the  first  time  her  first-born's  breath  ; 
Come  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke, 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke  ; 
Come  in  Consumption's  ghastly  form, 
The  earthquake  shock,  the  ocean  storm, 
Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm 
With  banquet-song  and  dance  and  wine,  — 
And  thou  are  terrible  !  the  tear,  — 
The  groan,  —  the  knell,  —  the  pall,  —  the  bier. 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear, 
Of  agony  are  thine." 

*  Noble '  pieces  should  have  *  full '  swelling  *  volume '  and 

*  median  stress,'  with  *  long  quantity '  and  *  long  slides,'  '  loud 
force,'  'pure  quality,'  and  '  middle  pitch.' 

Noble  Example. 

"  But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 
Has  won  the  battle  for  the  free, 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word, 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 
The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Ixxi 

Bozzaris !  with  the  storied  Brave 
Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Best  thee  !  there  is  no  prouder  grave, 
Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
We  tell  thy  doom  without  a  sigh ; 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now  and  Fame's,  — 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 
That  were  not  born  to  die !  " 

Both  *  ludicrous'  and  'sarcastic'  pieces  should  have  long 
'circumflex  slides '  and  *  compound  '  *  abrupt  stress,'  'long quan- 
tity and  pauses '  on  the  emphatic  words ;  but  punning  and 
raillery,  when  good-natured,  should  have  a  '  higher  pitch,' 
'faster  time,'  and  'purer  quality'  than  belongs  to  sarcasm 
which  should  have  the  '  middle  pitch,'  '  aspirated  quality,'  and 
rather  '  slow  time.'    With  both  kinds  the  '  force '  changes  from 

*  moderate '  to  louder  with  the  boldness  of  the  spirit. 

In  the  following  example  the  part  of  Sir  Peter  Teazle  should 
be  read  with  strongly  '  aspirated  quality '  and  '  abrupt  stress,' 
while  the  half-laughing  raillery  of  Lady  T.  should  have  the 

*  pure  quality '  and  '  tremulous  stress '  mingled  with  the  '  com- 
pound,' and  *  higher  pitch    and  '  less  volume.' 

Ludicrous  or  sarcastic  example. 

"  Sir  Peter.  Very  well,  ma'am,  very  well  —  so  a  husband 
is  to  have  no  influence,  no  authority  ? 

Lady  T.  Authority !  No,  to  be  sure :  —  if  you  wanted 
authority  over  me,  you  should  have  adopted  me,  and  not 
married  me  ;  I  am  sure  you  were  old  enough. 

Sir  p.  Old  enough !  —  ay,  there  it  is.  Well,  well.  Lady 
Teazle,  though  my  life  may  be  made  unhappy  by  your  temper 
I'll  not  be  ruined  by  your  extravagance. 

Lady  T.  Vij  extravagance!  Sir  Peter,  am  I  to  blame 
because  flowers  are  dear  in  cold  weather?  You  should  find 
fault  with  the  climate,  and  not  with  me.  For  my  part,  I  'm 
sure,  I  wish  it  was  spring  all  the  year  round,  and  that  roses 
grew  under  our  feet ! 

Sir  P.  Zounds!  madam  —  if  you  had  been  born  to  this, 
I  should  n't  wonder  at  your  talking  thus ;  but  you  forget  what 
your  situation  was  when  I  married  you. 


Lxxll  IXTKODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Lady  T.  No,  no,  I  don't ;  't  was  a  very  disagreeable  one,  or 
I  should  never  have  married  you.  Sir  Peter  I  would  you  have 
me  be  out  of  the  fashion  ? 

Sir  p.  The  fashion,  indeed !  What  had  you  to  do  with 
the  fashion  before  you  married  me  ? 

Lady  T.  Por  my  part,  I  should  think  you  would  like  to 
have  your  wife  thought  a  woman  of  taste. 

Sir  p.  Ay,  there  again  —  taste.  Zounds !  madam,  you 
had  no  taste  when  you  married  me ! 

Lady  T.  That 's  very  true,  indeed.  Sir  Peter ;  and  after 
having  married  you  I  should  never  pretend  to  taste  again,  I 
allow.  But  now,  Sir  Peter,  since  we  have  finished  our  daily 
jangle,  I  presume  I  may  go  to  my  e'ngagement  at* Lady  Sneer- 
well's. 

Sir  p.  Ay,  there 's  another  precious  circumstance  —  a 
charming  set  of  acquaintance  you  have  made  there." 

Example  of  hitter  irony  and  sarcasm  dossing  with  the 
impassioned  kind.^ 

"  I  speak  not  to  you,  Mr.  Eenwick,  of  your  own  outcast 
condition ;  —  perhaps  you  delight  in  the  perils  of  martyrdom : 
I  speak  not  to  those  around  us,  who,  in  their  persons,  their 
substance,  and  their  families,  have  endured  the  torture,  poverty, 
and  irremediable  dishonor.  They  may  be  meek  and  hallowed 
men,  willing  to  endure ;  and  as  for  my  wife  —  what  was  she 
to  you  ?  Ye  cannot  be  greatly  disturbed  that  she  is  in  her 
grave.  No,  ye  are  quiet,  calm,  prudent  persons ;  it  would  be 
a  most  indiscreet  thing  of  you,  you  who  have  suffered  no 
wrongs  yourselves,  to  stir  on  her  account 

"  In  truth,  friends,  Mr.  Eenwick  is  quite  right.  This  feeling 
of  indignation  against  our  oppressors  is  a  most  imprudent 
thing.  If  we  desire  to  enjoy  our  own  contempt,  to  deserve  the 
derision  of  men,  and  to  merit  the  abhorrence  of  Heaven,  let  us 
yield  ourselves  to  all  that  Charles  Stuart  and  his  sect  require. 
We  can  do  nothing  better,  nothing  so  meritorious,  —  nothing 
by  which  we  can  so  reasonably  hope  for  punishment  here  and 


INTllODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Ixxlil' 

condemnation  hereafter.  But  if  there  is  one  man  at  this 
meeting,  —  I  am  speaking  not  of  shapes  and  forms,  but  of 
feelings,  —  if  there  is  one  here  that  feels  as  men  were  wont 
to  feel,  he  will  draw  his  sword,  and  say  with  me,  Woe  to  the 
house  of  Stuart !  woe  to  the  oppressors !  " 

*  Impassioned  '  pieces,  such  as  the  last  of  the  example  above 
and  the  following,  should  have  '  very  loud  force,'  *  very  long 
slides,'  'very  abrupt  stress.'  Time  accelerating  as  the  pas- 
sion cumulates,  from  '  moderate '  to  '  faster,'  with  *  very  long 
quantity '  on  the  emphatic  words,  *  middle  and  higher  pitch  * 
and  'quality,'  (where  the  passion  is  not  malignant,)  only 
slightly  *  aspirated.' 

Impassioned  example. 

"  *  My  castles  are  my  king's  alone, 
From  turret  to  foundation  stone ; 
The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own, 
And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp  ! ' 
Burned  Marmion' s  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 
And  *  This  to  me  ! '  he  said ; 
*  An  't  were  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion' s  had  not  spared 
To  cleave  the  Douglas's  head! 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here 
E'en  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, 
Here,  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
I  tell  thee,  thou  'rt  defied ! 
And  if  thou  saidst  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Lowknd  or  highland,  far  or  near, 
Lord  x^ngus,  thou  hast  lied ! ' 
On  the  earl's  cheek  the  fiush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age ; 
Tierce  he  broke  forth :   *  And  dar'st  thou,  then, 
ff 


Ixxiv  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 

And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 

No  !  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  ! 

Up  drawbridge,  groom !     What,  warder,  ho  I 

Let  the  portcullis  fall ! '  " 

MIXED   EMOTIONS. 

When  the  elements  of  expression  for  each  separate  *  kind  * 
are  clearly  understood  and  readily  employed  in  practice,  it 
will  be  comparatively  easy  to  teach  the  natural  expression  of 
mixed  sentiments. 

W^hcn  two  different  emotions  are  mixed,  the  most  charac- 
teristic elements  in  the  expression  of  each  must  be,  as  far  as 
possible,  preserved  in  the  reading  of  the  compound.  If  these 
elements  are  opposed  to  each  other,  as  'loud'  and  'soft'  '  force,* 
or  'fast'  and  'slow'  'time,'  there  must  be  a  compromise,  to  suit 
the  mixture  of  ideas. 

Examples. 

"  0  God,  thou  hast  blessed  me,  I  ask  for  no  more." 

In  this  line  we  have  the  grave  sentiment  of  reverence  blend- 
ed with  the  lively  feeling  of  joy.  Keverence  alone  demands 
'low  pitch'  and  'slow  time,' — joy  alone  demands  'high 
pitch  '  and  '  fast  time.'  The  reverential  joy,  therefore,  of  the 
line  quoted  must  be  expressed  by  a  natural  compromise.  The 
mixed  emotions  will  be  somewhat '  lower  in  pitch '  and  *  slower 
in  time'  than  mere  joy,  and  somewhat  'higher'  and  'faster* 
than  mere  reverence.  The  degree'  in  which  either  simple 
feeling  must  give  way  to  the  other,  depends,  of  course,  on  the 
relative  prominence  of  each. 

In  Kienzi's  speech  we  find  the  opposite  feelings  of  sorrow 
and  joy  blended  in  the  lines  which  recall  the  beauty  of  his 
slain  brother : 

**  He  left  my  side, 
A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheeks,  —  a  smile 
Parting  his  innocent  lips." 

The  most  characteristic  element  in  the  expression  of  pathos, 
is  the  '  short'  or  '  minor  slide.'  This  must  be  retained,  then, 
in  reading  this  "  sad-joy."  The  most  characteristic  element 
in  the  expression  of  joy,  is  the  lively,  springing  'median 
stress ;  *  this  must  in  a  great  measure  be  retained  therefore. 


INTEODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Ixxv 

The  *  time '  and  '  force '  are  opposite,  and  must  be  compro- 
mised, —  that  is,  a  mean  between  the  two  opposites  must  be 
given.  The  proper  reading  will  not  be  so  loud  or  fast  as  mere 
joy,  nor  so  slow  and  soft  as  mere  sadness.  In  manly  pathos, 
we  have  often  what  is  bold  or  noble  in  feeling  blended  with 
tenderness  and  pathos.  Sufficient  loudness  of  force,  and 
length  of  slide,  and  fulness  of  volume  must  he  preserved  in 
reading  the  compound,  to  express  the  manly  or  noble  part, 
while  the  force  is  softened  enough,  and  the  slide  shortened  by 
a  semitone,  to  express  also  the  pathetic  part. 

*'0  my  son  Absalom !  my  son,  my  son  Absalom! 
Would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  0  Absalom,  my  son,  my 
son ! " 

ANALYSIS 

OF     EXAMPLES,      INCLUDING     VARIED     'KINDS*     AND      'MIXED 
EMOTIONS.' 

'  Unemotional.' 

I.  **  I  profess,  sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept 
steadily  in  view  the  prosperity  and  honor  of  the  whole  country, 
and  the  preservation  of  our  Federal  Union. 

*  Bold '  and  *  animated.' 

"It  is  to  that  Union  we  owe  our  safety  at  home  and  our 
consideration  and  dignity  abroad.  It  is  to  that  Union  we  are 
chiefly  indebted  for  whatever  makes  us  most  proud  of  our 
country.  Every  year  of  its  duration  has  teemed  with  fresh 
proofs  of  its  utility  and  its  blessings.  It  has  been  to  us  all  a 
copious  fountain  of  national,  social,  personal  happiness. 


*'  While  the  Union  lasts,  we  have  high,  exciting,  gratifying 
prospects  spread  out  before  us,  for  us  and  for  our  children. 

*  Grave' 

"  Beyond  that  I  seek  not  to  penetrate  the  veil.  God  grant 
that,  in  my  day,  at  least,  that  curtain  may  not  rise !  God 
grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be  opened  what  lies  behind ! 


IXXVI  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. '^      ^  ^     /  /^ 

*  Grave  and  bold.'  The  ideas  are  also  ' harsh^  and  'nega- 
tive' demanding  *  abrupt  stress '  and  *  rising  slides.' 

**  When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold  for  the  last  time 
the  Sun  in  Heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining  on  the  broken 
and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glorious  Union ;  on  States 
dissevered,  discordant,  belligerent ;  on  a  land  rent  with  civil 
feuds,  or  drenched,  it  may  be,  in  fraternal  blood  I 

'Noble,'  'positive.' 

"Let  their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance,  rather,  behold 
the  gorgeous  Ensign  of  the  Republic,  (now  known  and  honored 
throughout  the  earth,)  still  full  high  advanced,  its  arms  and 
trophies  streaming  in  their  original  lustre,  not  a  stripe  erased 
or  polluted,  nor  a  single  star  obscured,  — 

'Bold,'  'negative,'  and  'harsh,* 

"bearing,  for  its  motto,  no  such  miserable  interrogatory  as 
*  What  is  all  this  worth  ? '  nor  those  other  words  of  delusion 
and  folly,  '  Liberty  first,  and  Union  afterwards,'  — 

'Bold'  and  '  noble*  'positive '  and  'good,'  demanding  '  loud* 
and  '  smooth '  'force'  'full  volume,*  '  long  falling  slides'  and 
'pure  quality' 

"  but  everywhere,  spread  all  over,in  characters  of  living  light, 
blazing  on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and 
over  the  land,  and  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  heavens, 
that  other  sentiment,  dear  to  every  true  American  heart,  — 
Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable  ! " 

*  Unemotional'  and  'grave.* 

2.  "Friends, 

I  come  not  here  to  talk.     Ye  know  too  well 
The  story  of  our  thraldom.     We  are  slaves  ! 
The  bright  sun  rises  to  his  course,  and  lights     f- 
A  race  of  slaves  !     He  sets,  and  his  last  beam  / 
Falls  on  a  slave." 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  kxvil 

*  Bold''  and  '  nolle,''  '  negative.^ 

"  Not  such  as,  swept  along 
By  the  full  tide  of  power,  the  conqueror  leads 
To  crimson  glory  and  undying  fame." 

*  Sarcastic,^  (contempt,  scorn,  and  irony.)  These  mixed  ideas ^ 
being  '  harsh '  and  *  impure,'  demand  *  abrupt  stress  '  and '  aspi- 
rated quality,'  with  the  '  circumflex  slides.^ 

**  But  base,  ignoble  slaves,  —  slaves  to  a  horde 
Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despots  ;  lords, 
Kich  in  some  dozen  paltry  villages,  — 
Strong  in  some  hundred  spearmen,  —  only  great 
In  that  strange  spell,  —  a  name.  Each  hour,  dark  fraud. 
Or  open  rapine,  or  protected  murder, 
Cries  out  against  them.     But  this  very  day, 
An  honest  man,  my  neighbor,  —  there  he  stands,  — 
Was  struck,  —  struck  like  a  dog,  by  one  who  wore 
The  badge  of  Ursini ;  because,  forsooth, 
He  tossed  not  high  his  ready  cap  in  air, 
Nor  lifted  up  his  voice  in  servile  shouts, 
At  sight  of  that  great  rufl&an. 

*  Impassioned,'   (' negative') 

"Be  we  men, 
And  suffer  such  dishonor  ?     Men,  and  wash  not 
The  stain  away  in  blood?     Such  shames  are  common." 

'  Subdusd'  pathos  and  Joy  blended.  \ 

"  I  have  known  deeper  wrongs.     I,  that  speak  to  ye, 
I  had  a  brother  once,  a  gracious  boy, 
Full  of  all  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope,  — 
Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy,  —  ♦  there  was  the  look 
Of  heaven  upon  his  face,  which  limners  give 
To  the  beloved  disciple.'     How  I  loved 
That  gracious  boy !     Younger  by  fifteen  years, 
9'' 


Ixxviii  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 

Brother,  at  once,  and  son !  "  He  left  my  side, 
A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheeks,  —  a  smile 
Parting  his  innocent  lips." 

'  Pathetic '  and '  hold,'  with  *  abrupt '  and  *  tremvlous  'force. 

"  In  one  short  hour 
The  pretty,  harmless  boy  was  slain !     I  saw 
The  corse,  the  mangled  corse,  and  then  I  cried 
For  vengeance ! 

^Impassioned'  and  *  sarcastic.* 

**  Kouse,  ye  Romans  I     Rouse,  ye  slaves! 
Have  ye  brave  sons  ?     Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 
To  see  them  die.     Have  ye  fair  daughters  ?    Look 
To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms,  distained, 
Dishonored ;  and,  if  ye  dare  call  for  justice, 
Be  answered  by  the  lash." 

*  Animated.* 

«*  Yet,  this  is  Rome 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty  ruled  the  world  !     Yet  we  are  Romans." 

^MhleJ 

«•  Why,  in  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  king  !     And  once  again, — 
Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus  I     Once  again  I  swear. 
The  eternal  city  shall  be  free !  " 

POETRY. 

Good  reading  of  Poetry  demands,  in  addition  to  the  elements 
of  elocution  which  belong  to  all  emotional  expression,  as  such, 
that  just  enough  special  attention  be  given  to  quantity  and 
accent  to  fill  out  the  time  equably  in  each  "  bar"  of  the  poet- 
ical "  measure,"  and  mark  its  rhythm  perceptibly.     In  good 


INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE.  Ixxix 

poetry  the  rhythm  always  harmonizes  with  the  sense  and 
spirit,  so  that  the  rhythmical  accent  falls  naturally  just  where 
emphatic  force  is  needed  to  give  the  author  s  true  meaning. 
The  relative  degree  of  force  which  should  mark  the  rhythm, 
agrees  with  the  relative  or  emphatic  force  with  which  the  ideas 
should  be  read. 

It  is  better,  therefore,  to  study  and  read  poetry  as  emotional 
prose,  without  any  thought  of  poetical  measure,  than  to  fall  into 
the  greater  fault  of  marking  the  metre  too  prominently  and 
mechanically,  with  an  offensive  "  sing-song,"  or  "  scanning." 

The  aim  should  be  to  mark  the  poetical  measure  but  deli- 
cately, so  that  we  may  perceive,  if  we  choose  to  think  of  it, 
that  the  reader  is  giving  it  happily,  but  not  so  that  we  must 
think  of  its  mechanical  structure  instead  of  the  worth  and 
beauty  of  the  ideas.  Poetical  rhythm  and  quantity  belong  not 
so  much  to  the  form  as  to  the  spirit  of  poetry,  for  they  are 
essential  elements  in  the  natural  expression  of  all  beautiful 
and  tender  and  noble  sentiments,  whether  in  verse  or  prose. 

PHYSICAL  CULTUKE. 

To  make  the  exercises  in  reading  as  conducive  to  health  as 
to  elocutionary  improvement,  let  teachers  see  that  the  follow- 
ing necessary  physical  conditions  of  healthful  vocal  expression 
be  carefully  observed,  viz : 

1.  Position.  Pupils  must  stand  or  sit  uprightly  and  easily, 
so  that  the  larger  organs  of  speech  may  act  with  perfect  free- 
dom. 

2.  Breathing.  Pupils  must  inhale  fully  at  the  outset,  and 
as  frequently  as  the  natural  pauses  will  allow,  so  as  to  keep 
the  lungs  at  all  times  well  supplied  with  fresh  air. 

3.  Expulsion.  Pupils  must  learn,  if  they  would  read  with 
force  and  ease,  to  expel  the  emphatic  tones  from  the  throat,  by 
contracting  the  expulsory  muscles  of  the  waist,  so  as  to  lift 
up  and  throw  out  the  vocalized  breath  with  the  utmost  required 
force,  without  unnaturally  exercising  and  irritating  the  throat. 


IXXX  INTRODUCTORY    TREATISE. 


VOCAL  GULTUEE. 

The  organic  divisions  of  quality  of  voice,  such  as  "head- 
tone,"  "  chest-tone,"  and  "  orotund,"  vs^e  have  not  given  in  this 
manual  for  schools,  for  the  practical  reason  that  there  are  so 
few,  even  among  professional  vocalists,  who  have  naturally 
both  the  tenor  and  bass  qualities,  or  the  '  head '  and  '  chest ' 
tones,  —  so  few  who  can  ever  learn  to  use  both  expressively/. 
Instead  of  trying, — in  most  cases  in  vain, — to  make  the  reader, 
whose  natural  quality  of  voice  is  *  head-tone '  or  tenor,  culti- 
vate the  *  chest-tone '  or  bass,  and  *  vice  versa,'  let  the  lower 
natural  tones  of  the  high  pitched  voices,  and  the  uppernatural 
tones  of  the  low  pitched  voices,  be  cultivated  and  rounded  into 
the  full,  noble,  orotund  quality  on  the  tones  of  the  middle 
pitch.  This  has  the  advantage  of  being  practicable  and  of 
preserving,  amid  all  the  manifold  improvements  of  vocal  cul- 
ture, the  natural  quality  of  each  voice,  which  is  always  the 
most  expressive  and  pleasing. 

The  many  examples  we  have  given  for  daily  exercise  in  the 
diflferent  kinds  of  vocal  expriession,  if  thoroughly  practiced, 
furnish  the  most  natural  means  and  method  of  vocal  culture. 
Exercise  in  the  right  way  and  earnestly  what  voice  the  pupil 
has,  and  he  will  soon  acquire  additional  force,  volume,  com- 
pass, flexibility,  and  expression  of  voice. 

NATUKAL  EXPKESSION. 

Let  pupils  practice  carefully  and  thoroughly  the  examples 
for  the  right  use  of  each  one  of  the  '  elements '  of  expression, 
and  the  examples  for  rightly  blending  all  these  elements  in 
the  natural  expression  of  each  'kind'  of  sentiment,  till  the 
appropriate  'force,'  'time,'  'slides,'  &c.,  for  reading  any  given 
*kind'  become  inseparably  associated  in  the  reader's  mind 
with  the  sentiment  itself.  Then  the  idea,  the  feeling,  will 
spontaneously  inspire  its  own  best  expresssion ;  and  so,  at  last, 
IMPEBFECT  Art  may  ripen  into  PERFECT  NATUEE. 


HILLARD'S  SIXTH  READER. 


I.— -THE   C^NTEAST:    #K   PEACE  AND  WAK. 

[ATHEN.^iUM.] 

Lovely  art  thou,  0  Peace !  and  lovely  are  thy  children, 
and  lovely  are  the  prints  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  green 
valleys.  ^ .  J^'W-{Z£ 

Blue  wreaths  of  smoke  ascend  through  the  trees,  and      o 
5  betray  the  half-hidden  cottage ;  the  eye  contemplates  well-  - 

thatched  ricks,  and  barns  bursting  with  plenty :  the  peas-      /  ^' 
ant  laughs  at  the  approach  of  winter. 

White  houses  peep  through  the  trees ;  cattle  stand  cool- 
ing in  the  pool ;  the  casement  of  the  farm-house  is  covered 
10  with  jessamine  and  honeysuckle ;   the  stately  greenhouse 
exhales  the  perfume  of  summer  climates. 

Children  climb  the  green  mound  of  the  rampart,  and 
ivy  holds  together  the  half-demolished  buttress. 

The  old  men  sit  at  their  doors ;  the  gossip  leans  over 
15  her  counter;  the  children  shout  and  frolic  in  the  streets. 

The  housewife's  stores  of  bleached  linen,  whiter  than 
snow,  are  laid  up  with  fragrant  herbs ;  they  are  the  pride 
of  the  matron,  the  toil  of  many  a  winter's  night. 

The  wares  of  the  merchant  are  spread  abroad  in  the 

20  shops,  or  stored  in  the  high-piled  warehouses ;  the  labor 

of  each,  profits  all ;  the  inhabitant  of  the  north  drinks  the 

fragrant  herb  of  China;  the  peasant's  child  wears  the 

webs  of  Hindostan. 

The  lame,  the  blind,  and  the  aged  repose  in  hospitals ; 


» 


i 


hillard's  sixth  readee. 


\^    the  rich,  softened  by  prosperity,  pity  the  poor ;  the  poor, 
V      disciplined  into  order,  respect  the  rich. 

Justice  is  dispensed  to  alL     Law  sits  steady  on  her 
throne,  and  the  sword  is  her  servant. 

WAR, 

6  They  have  rushed  through  like  a  hurricane;  like  an 
army  of  locusts  they  have  devoured  the  earth ;  the  war 
has  fallen  like  a  water-spout,  and  deluged  the  land  with 
blood. 

The  smoke  rises  not  through  the  trees,  for  the  honoraj; 
10  of  the  grove  are  fallen,  and  the  hearth  of  the  cottager  is  |  jj^, 
cold ;  but  it  rises  from  villages  burned  with  fire,  and  froml'' 
warm  ruins  spread  over  the  now  naked  plain. 

The  ear  is  filled  with  the  confused  bellowing  of  oxen, 

and  sad  bleating  of  overdriven  sheep ;  they  are  swept  from 

15  their  peaceful  plains;  with  shouting  and  goading  are  they 

driven  away :  the  peasant  folds  his  arms,  and  resigns  his 

faithful  fellow-laborers. 

The  farmer  weeps  over  his  barns  consumed  by  fire,  and 
his  demolished  roof,  and  anticipates  the  driving  of  the 
20  winter  snows. 

On  that  rising  ground,  where  the  green  turf  looks  black 
with  fire,  yesterday  stood  a  noble  mansion ;  the  owner  had 
said  in  his  heart:  **  Here  will  I  spend  the  evening  of  my 
days,  and  enjoy  the  fruit  of  my  years  of  toil ;  my  name 
25  shall  descend  with  mine  inheritance,  and  my  children's 
children  shall  sport  under  the  trees  which  I. have  planted." 
The  fruit  of  his  years  of  toil  is  swept  away  in  a  moment ; 
wasted,  not  enjoyed;  and  the  evening  of  his  days  is  left 
desolate. 
30  The  temples  are  profaned ;  the  soldier's  curse  resounds 
in  the  house  of  Grod ;  the  marble  pavement  is  trampled  by 
iron  hoofs ;  horses  neigh  beside  the  altar. 

Law  and  order  are  forgotten ;  violence  and  rapine  are 
abroad ;  the  golden  cords  of  society  are  loosed. 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  3 

Here  are  the  sliriek  of  woe  and  the  cry  of  anguishj  and 
there  is  suppressed  indignation  bursting  the  heart  with 
silent  despair. 

The  groans  of  the  wounded  are  in  the  hospitals,  and  by 
5  the  roadside,  and  in  every  thicket;  and  the  housewife's 
web,  whiter  than  snow,  is  scarcely  sufficient  to  stanch  the 
blood  of  her  husband  and  children.     Look  at  that  youth, 
the  first-born  of  her  strength ;  yesterday  he  bounded  as 
/     the  roebuck ;  was  glowing  as  the  summer- fruits ;  active  in 
10  sports,  strong  to  labor;  he  has  passed  in  one  moment  from 
youth  to  age ;  his  comeliness  is  departed ;  helplessness  is 
his  portion  for  the  days  of  future  years.     He  is  more  de- 
crepit than  his  grandsire,  on  whose  head  are  the  snows  of 
eighty  winters;  but  those  were  the  snows  of  nature;  this 
15  is  the  desolation  of  man. 

Everything  unholy  and  unclean  comes  abroad  from  its 

lurking-place,  and  deeds  of  darkness  are  done  beneath  the 

eye  of  day.     The  villagers  no  longer  start  at  horrible 

sights ;  the  soothing  rights  of  burial  are  denied,  and  hu- 

20  man  bones  are  tossed  by  human  hands. 

No  one  careth  for  another ;  every  one,  hardened  by  mis- 
ery, careth  for  himself  alone. 

Lo  these  are  what  God  has  set  before  thee,  child  of  rea- 
son I  son  of  woman !  unto  which  does  thine  heart  incline  ? 


IL  — GEACE    DAKLING. 

[This  account  of  Grace  Darling'  is  mainly  an  abridgment  of  a  sketch  in 
"  Chambers's  Miscellany  of  Useful  and  Entertaining  Tracts."  Northumberland 
is  a  county  in  the  north-easterly  corner  of  England,  bordering  on  Scotland.] 

Opposite  the  northern  part  of  the  coast  of  the  county  of 
Northumberland,  in  England,  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
shore,  is  a  group  of  small  islands,  twenty-five  in  number 
at  low  tide,  called  the  Fame  Islands.  Their  aspect  is 
wild  and  desolate  in  the  extreme.    Composed  of  rock,  with 


4  HILLAED  S   SIXTH   READER. 

a  slight  covering  of  herbage,  and  in  many  places  ending 
in  sheer  precipices,  they  are  the  residence  of  little  else 
than  wild  fowl.  Between  the  smaller  islets  the  sea  runs 
with  great  force,  and  many  a  goodly  ship,  in  times  past, 
5  has  laid  her  bones  upon  the  pitiless  rocks  which  every 
ebb  tide  exposes  to  view. 

Upon  Longstone,  one  of  these  islands,  there .  stands  a 
light-house,  which,  at  the  time  of  the  incident  about  to  be 
related,  was  kept  by  William  Darling,  a  worthy  and  intel- 

10  ligent  man,  of  quiet  manners,  with  resources  of  mind  and 
character  sufficient  to  turn  to  profitable  use  the  many 
lonely  hours  which  his  position  necessarily  entailed  upon 
him. 

He  had  a  numerous  family  of  children ;  among  them  a 

15  daughter,  Grace,  who  had  reached  the  age  of  twenty- two 
years  when  the  incident  occurred  which  has  made  her  name 
so  famous.  She  had  passed  most  of  her  life  upon  the 
little  island  of  Longstone,  and  is  described  as  having  been 
of  a  retiring  and  somewhat  reserved  disposition.     In  per- 

20  sonal  appearance,  she  was  about  the  middle  size,  of  a  fair 
complexion  and  pleasing  countenance  ;  with  nothing  mas- 
culine in  her  aspect,  but  gentle  and  feminine,  and,  as 
might  be  supposed,  with  a  winning  expression  of  benevo- 
lence in  her  face.    Her  smile  was  particularly  sweet.     She 

25  had  a  good  understanding,  and  had  been  respectably 
educated. 

On  Wednesday  evening,  September  5,  1838,  the  Forfar- 
shire steamer,  of  about  three  hundred  tons  burden,  under 
the  command  of  Captain  John  Humble,  sailed  from  Hull 

80  on  a  voyage  to  Dundee,  in  Scotland.  She  had  a  valuable 
cargo  of  bale  goods  and  sheet-iron ;  and  her  company, 
including  twenty- two  cabin  and  nineteen  steerage  passen- 
gers, comprised  sixty-three  persons. 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  when  in  the  neighbor- 

35  hood  of  the  Fame  Islands,  she  encountered  a  severe  storm 
of  wind,  attended  with  heavy  rain  and  a  dense  fog.     She 


hillakd's  sixth  eeader.  5 

leaked  to  such  a  degree  that  the  fires  could  not  he  kept 
burning,  and  her  engines  soon  ceased  to  work.  She  he- 
came  wholly  unmanageable,  and  drifting  violently,  at  the 
mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves,  struck  on  one  of  the 
5  reefs  of  Longstone  Island,  about  four  o'clock  on  Friday 
morning. 

As  too  often  happens  in  such  fearful  emergencies,  the 
master  lost  his  self-possession,  order  and  discipline  ceased, 
and  nothing  but  self-preservation  was  thought  of.     A  por- 

10  tion  of  the  crew,  including  the  first  mate,  lowered  one  of 
the  boats  and  left  the  ship.  With  them  was  a  single  cabin 
passenger,  who  threw  himself  into  the  boat  by  means  of  a 
rope.  These  men  were  picked  up  after  some  hours,  and 
carried  into  the  port  of  Shields. 

15  The  scene  on  board  was  of  a  most  fearful  description  — 
men  paralyzed  by  despair  —  women  wringing  their  hands 
and  shrieking  with  anguish  —  and  among  them  the  help- 
less and  bewildered  master,  whose  wife,  clinging  to  him, 
frantically  besought  the  protection  he  could  no  longer  give. 

20  The  vessel  struck  aft  the  paddle-boxes;   and  not  above 

three  minutes  after  the  passengers  (most  of  whom  had 

been  below,  and  many  of  them  in  their  berths)  had  rushed 

upon  the  deck,  a  second  shock  broke  her  into  two  pieces. 

The  after-part,  with  most  of  the  passengers  and  the  cap- 

25  tain  and  his  wife,  was  swept  away  through  a  tremendous 
current,  and  all  upon  it  were  lost.  The  fore-part,  on 
which  were  five  of  the  crew  and  four  passengers,  stuck  fast 
to  the  rock.  These  few  survivors  remained  in  their  dread- 
ful situation  till  daybreak,  with  a  fearful  sea  running 

30  around  them,  and  expecting  every  moment  to  be  swept  into 
the  deep.  With  what  anxious  eyes  did  they  wait  for  the 
morning  light !  And  yet  what  could  mortal  help  avail 
them  even  then  ?  Craggy  and  dangerous  rocky  islets  lay 
between  them  and  the  nearest  land,   and  around  these 

35  rocks  a  sea  was  raging  in  which  no  boat  was  likely  to  live. 
But,  through  the  providence  of  God,  a  deliverance  was  in 
1* 


6  hillard's  sixth  eeadek. 

store  for  tliem  —  a  deliverance  wrought  "by  the  strong  heart 
of  an  heroic  girl. 

As  soon  as  day  broke  on  the  morning  of  the  7th,  they 
were  descried  from  the  Longstone  light,  hy  the  Darlings, 
6  at  nearly  a  mile's  distance.  None  of  the  family  were  at 
home,  except  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Darling  and  Grace.  Although 
the  wind  had  somewhat  abated,  the  sea  —  never  calm 
among  these  jagged  rocks  —  was  still  fiercely  raging;  an(i 
to  have  braved  its  perils  would  have  done  the  highest 

10  honor  to  the  strong  muscles  and  well-tried  nerves  of  the 
stoutest  of  the  male  sex.  But  what  shall  be  said  of  the 
errand  of  mercy  having  been  undertaken  and  accomplished 
mainly  through  a  female  heart  and  arm  ! 

Mr.  Darling,  it  is  said,  was  reluctant  to  expose  himself 

15  to  what  seemed  certain  destruction ;  but  the  earnest  en- 
treaties of  his  daughter  determined  him  to  make  the  at- 
tempt. At  her  solicitation  the  boat  was  launched,  with 
the  mother's  assistance ;  and  father  and  daughter  entered 
it,  each  taking  an  oar.     It  is  worthy  of  being  noticed  that 

20  Grace  never  had  occasion  to  assist  in  the  boat  previous  to 
the  wreck  of  the  Forfarshire,  others  of  the  family  being 
always  at  hand.  It  was  only  by  the  exertion  of  great 
muscular  strength,  as  well  as  by  the  utmost  coolness  and 
resolution,  that  the  father  and  daughter  rowed  the  boat  up 

25  to  the  rock.    And  when  there,  a  greater  danger  arose  from 

the  difficulty  of  so  managing  it  as  to  prevent  its  being 

.   dashed  to  pieces  upon  the  sharp  ridge  which  had  proved 

fatal  to  the  steamer.     With  much  difficulty  and  danger, 

the  father  scrambled  upon  the  rock,  and  the  boat  was  left 

30  for  awhile  to  the  unaided  strength  and  skill  of  the  daugh- 
ter.    However,  the  nine  sufferers  were  safely  rescued. 

The  delight,  with  which  the  boat  was  first  seen,  was 
converted  into  amazement  when  they  perceived  that  it  was 
guided  and  impelled  by  an  old  man  and  a  young  woman. 

35  Owing  to  the  violence  of  the  storm,  the  rescued  persons 
were  obliged  to  remain  at  the  light-house  of  the  Darlings 


HILLAED'S   SIXTH   READER.  7 

from  Friday  morning  till  Sunday,  during  whicli  time  Grace 
was  most  assiduous  in  her  kind  attentions  to  the  suffer- 
ers, giving  up  her  bed  to  one  of  them,  a  poor  woman,  who 
had  seen  her  two  children  perish  in  her  arms,  while  on  the 
5  wreck. 

This  heroic  deed  of  Grace  Darling  shot  a  thrill  of 
sympathy  and  admiration  through  all  Great  Britain,  and 
indeed  through  all  Christendom.  The  Humane  Society 
sent  her  a  flattering  vote  of  thanks  and  a  piece  of  plate, 

10  and  a  considerable  sum  of  money  was  raised  for  her  from 
the  voluntary  contributions  of  an  admiring  public.  The 
lonely  light-house  became  the  centre  of  attraction  to  thou- 
sands of  curious  and  sympathizing  travellers ;  and  Grace 
was  pursued,  questioned,  and  stared  at  to  an  extent  that 

15  became  a  serious  annoyance  to  her  gentle  and  retiring 
spirit. 

But  in  all  this  hot  blaze  of  admiration,  and  in  her  im- 
proved fortunes,  she  preserved  unimpaired  the  simplicity 
and  modesty  of  her  nature.     Her  head  was  not  in  the 

20  least  turned  by  the  world-wide  fame  she  had  earned,  or  by 
the  flattering  caresses  of  the  wealthy,  the  fashionable,  and 
the  distinguished,  which  were  lavished  upon  her.  The 
meekness  with  which  she  bore  her  honors  equalled  the 
courage  which  had  won  them.     She  resumed  her  former 

25  way  of  life,  and  her  accustomed  duties,  as  quietly  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Several  advantageous  offers  of 
marriage  were  made  to  her,  but  she  declined  them  all; 
usually  alleging  her  determination  not  to  leave  her  parents 
while  they  lived. 

30  But  she  was  not  long  destined  to  enjoy  the  applause  she 
had  earned,  or  the  more  substantial  tokens  of  regard  which 
had  been  bestowed  upon  her.  She  began  to  show  symp- 
toms of  consumption  towards  the  latter  part  of  1841;  and, 
although  all  the  means  of  restoration  which  the  most  affec- 

35  tionate  care  and  the  best  medical  advice  could  suggest 
were  resorted  to,  she  gradually  declined,  and  breathed  her 


8  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

last,  in  calm  submission  to  the  will  of  God,  October  20, 
1842.  Her  funeral  was  very  numerously  attended,  and 
a  monument  has  been  erected  to  her  memory  in  Bambor- 
ough  church-yard,  where  she  was  buried. 
5  Such  was  Grace  Darling  —  one  of  the  heroines  of  hu- 
manity —  whose  name  is  destined  to  live  as  long  as  the 
sympathies  and  affections  of  humanity  endure.  Such  calm 
heroism  as  hers  —  so  generously  exerted  for  the  good  of 
others — is  one  of  the  noblest  attributes  of  the  soul  of 

10  man.  It  had  no  alloy  of  blind  animal  passion,  like  the 
bravery  of  the  soldier  on  the  field  of  battle,  but  it  was 
spiritual,  celestial,  and  we  may  reverently  add,  godlike. 
Never  does  man  appear  more  distinctly  in  the  image  of 
his  Maker  than  when,  like  the  noble-hearted  Grace  Dar- 

15  ling,  he  deliberately  exposes  his  own  life  to  save  the  lives 
of  others. 


III.— THE   DISCONTENTED   PENDULUM. 

Jane  Taylor. 

[Jane  Taylor  was  bom  in  London,  September  23,  1783,  and  died  April  12, 
1824.  Her  father  was  a  writer  of  books,  and  one  of  lier  brothers  is  the  cel- 
ebrated author  of  "  The  Natural  History  of  Enthusiasm,"  "  Saturday  Even- 
ing," &c.  She  wrote  "Display,"  a  tale,  "Essays  in  Rhyme  on  Morals  and 
Manners,"  "  Original  Poems  for  Infant  Minds,"  (a  favorite  book  with  cliil- 
dren,  and  deseryedly  so,)  and  "  Rhymes  for  the  Nursery."  She  also  contrib- 
uted many  artMes^o  the  "Youth's  Magazine,"  under  the  signature  of  Q.  Q., 
conveying  sound  moral  and  religious  instruction  in  an  attractive  style.  These 
were  collected  and  published  after  her  death,  and  they  have  been  republished 
in  this  country.  Her  writings  are  all  excellent  in  their  tone  and  spirit,  and 
possess  much  literary  merit. 

"The  Discontented  Pendulum "  — which  first  appeared  in  the  "Youth's 
Magazine  "—is  an  admirable  specimen  of  the  allegory ;  a  form  of  composition 
in  which  the  real  interest,  or  primary  object,  is  communicated  by  a  discourse 
which  has  also  a  secondary  or  subordinate  meaning.  Here  we  have  a  sup- 
posed conversation  between  the  several  portions  of  a  kitchen  clock ;  but  this 
would  have  no  interest  or  value  but  for  the  moral  truth  intended  to  be  con- 
veyed ;  and  this  latter  forms  the  primary  subject.  The  first  conception  of  this 
particular  instrument,  or  medium,  is  very  ingenious  and  happy,  because  it 
permits  the  analogy  to  be  carried  along  to  the  end  in  the  most  natural  manner 
possible.  Once  starting  with  the  clock,  all  the  rest  seems  to  suggest  itself. 
The  moral  lesson  taught  is  of  much  practical  value ;  and  the  duties  of  life 
would  be  lightened  if  we  could  all  come  to  the  same  cheerful  state  of  mind 

■nTifli    +T10   -ncinfliiliiTn   1 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  9 

An  old  clock,  that  had  stood  for  fifty  years  in  a  farmer's 
kitchen  without  giving  its  owner  any  cause  of  complaint, 
early  one  summer's  morning,  before  the  family  was  stir- 
ring, suddenly  stopped. 
5  Upon  this  the  dial-plate,  (if  we  may  credit  the  fable,) 
changed  countenance  with  alarm;  the  hands  made  an 
ineflfectual  effort  to  continue  their  course ;  the  wheels 
remained  motionless  with  surprise;  the  weights  hung 
speechless;  each  member  felt  disposed  to  lay  the  blame 

10  on  the  others.  At  length  the  dial  instituted  a  formal 
inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  the  stagnation ;  when  hands, 
wheels,  weights,  with  one  voice,  protested  their  innocence. 
But  now  a  faint  tick  was  heard  below,  from  the  pendulum, 
who  thus  spoke :  — 

15  "I  confess  myself  to  be  the  sole  cause  of  the  present 
stoppage,  and  am  willing,  for  the  general  satisfaction,  to 
assign  my  reasons.  The  truth  is,  that  I  am  tired  of  tick- 
ing:" Upon  hearing  this,  the  old  clock  became  so  en- 
raged that  it  was  on  the  point  of  striking. 

20  "  Lazy  wire  !  "  exclaimed  the  dial-plate,  holding  up  its 
hands.  V  ^ 

«  Very  good,"  replied  the  pendulum ;  "  it  is  vastly  easy 
for  you.  Mistress  Dial,  who  have  always,  as  everybody 
knows,  set  yourself  up  above  me,  —  it  is  vastly  easy  for 

25  you,  I  say,  to  accuse  other  people  of  laziness ;  you,  who 
have  had  nothing  to  do  all  the  days  of  your  life  but  to 
stare  people  in  the  face,  and  to  amuse  yourself  with  watch- 
ing all  that  goes  on  in  the  kitchen.  Think,  I  beseech  you, 
how  you  would  like  to  be  shut  up  for  life  in  this  dark 

30  closet,  and  wag  backwards  and  forwards,  year  after  year, 
as  I  do." 

''As  to  that,"  said  the  dial,  "  is  there  not  a  window  in 
your  house  on  purpose  for  you  to  look  through  ?  " 

"  For  all  that,"  resumed  the  pendulum,  "  it  is  very  dark 

35  here ;  and  although  there  is  a  window,  I  dare  not  stop, 
even  for  an  instant,  to  look  out.     Besides,  I  am  really 


10  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

weary  of  my  way  of  life ;  and  if  you  please,  I  '11  tell  you 
how  I  took  this  disgust  at  my  employment.  This  morn- 
ing I  happened  to  be  calculating  how  many  times  I  should 
have  to  tick  in  the  course  only  of  the  next  twenty-four 
5  hours :  perhaps  some  of  you,  above  there,  can  give  me  the 
exact  sum." 

The  minute-hand,  being  quick  at  figures,  instantly  re- 
plied, "  eighty-six  thousand  four  hundred  times." 

"  Exactly  so,"  replied  the  pendulum.     «*  Well,  I  appeal 

10  to  you  all  if  the  thought  of  this  was  not  enough  to  fatigue 
one.  And  when  I  began  to  multiply  the  strokes  of  one 
day  by  those  of  months  and  years,  really  it  is  no  wonder 
if  I  felt  discouraged  at  the  prospect :  so,  after  a  great  deal 
of  reasoning  and  hesitation,  thinks  I  to  myself,  I'll  stop." 

15  The  dial  could  scarcely  keep  its  countenance  during  this 
harangue ;  but,  resuming  its  gravity,  thus  replied :  — 

"  Dear  Mr.  Pendulum,  I  am  really  astonished  that  so 
useful  and  industrious  a  person  as  you  are  should  have 
been  overcome  by  this  sudden  suggestion.    It  is  true  you 

20  have  done  a  great  deal  of  work  in  your  time.  So  have  we 
all,  and  are  likely  to  do ;  and,  although  this  may  fatigue 
us  to  think  of,  the  question  is,  whether  it  will  fatigue  us 
to  do.  Would  you,  now,  do  me  the  favor  to  give  about 
half-a-dozen  strokes,  to  illustrate  my  argument?" 

25  The  pendulum  complied,  and  ticked  six  times  at  its 
usual  pace.  "Now,"  resumed  the  dial,  **mayl  be  al- 
lowed to  inquire,  if  that  exertion  was  at  all  fatiguing  or 
disagreeable  to  you?  " 

"Not  in  the  least,"  replied  the  pendulum ;  "it  is  not 

30  of  six  strokes  that  I  complain,  nor  of  sixty,  but  of  mil- 
lions." 

"Very  good,"  replied  the  dial;  "but  recollect  that  al- 
though you  may  think  of  a  million  strokes  in  an  instant, 
you  are  required  to  execute  but  one;  and  that,  however 

35  often  you  may  hereafter  have  to  swing,  a  moment  will 
always  be  given  you  to  swing  in." 


hillard's  sixth  keadek.  11 

<'Tliat  consideration  staggers  me,  I  confess,"  said  the 
pendulum. 

"Then  I  hope,"  resumed  the  dial-plate,  "we  shall  all 
immediately  return  to  our  duty ;  for  the  maids  will  lie  in 
5  bed  till  noon  if  we  stand  idling  thus." 

Upon  this,  the  weights,  who  had  never  been  accused  of 
light  conduct,  used  all  their  influence  in  urging  him  to 
proceed ;  when,  as  with  one  consent,  the  wheels  began  to 
turn,  the  hands  began  to  move,  the  pendulum  began  to 
10  wag,  and,  to  its  credit,  ticked  as  loud  as  ever;  and  a  beam 
of  the  rising  sun  that  streamed  through  a  hole  in  the 
kitchen  shutter,  shining  full  upon  the  dial-plate,  it  bright- 
ened up  as  if  nothing  had  been  the  matter. 

When  the  farmer  came  down  to  breakfast  that  morning, 
15  upon  looking  at  the  clock  he  declared  that  his  watch  had 
gained  half  an  hour  in  the  night. 

Moral.  —  It  is  said  by  a  celebrated  modern  writer, 
"  Take  care  of  the  minutes,  and  the  hours  will  take  care 
of  themselves."     This  is  an  admirable  hint,  and  might  be 

20  very  seasonably  recollected  when  we  begin  to  be  "  weary 
in  well-doing,"  from  the  thought  of  having  a  great  deal 
to  do.  The  present  is  all  we  have  to  manage :  the  past  is 
irrecoverable ;  the  future  is  uncertain ;  nor  is  it  fair  to  bur- 
den one  moment  with  the  weight  of  the  next.     Sufficient 

25  unto  the  moment  is  the  trouble  thereof  If  we  had  to  walk 
a  hundred  miles,  we  still  need  set  but  one  step  at  a  time, 
and  this  process,  continued,  would  infallibly  bring  us  to 
our  journey's  end.  Fatigue  generally  begins,  and  is  always 
increased,  by  calculating  in  a  minute  the  exertion  of  hours. 

30  Thus,  in  looking  forward  to  future  life,  let  us  recollect 
that  we  have  not  to  sustain  all  its  toil,  to  endure  all  its 
sufferings,  or  encounter  all  its  crosses,  at  once.  One  mo- 
Inent  comes  laden  with  its  own  little  burden,  then  flies, 
and  is  succeeded  by  another  no  heavier  than  the  last :  if 
one  could  be  sustained,  so  can  another,  and  another. 


12  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

Even  in  looking  forward  to  a  single  day,  the  spirit  may 
sometimes  faint  from  an  anticipation  of  the  duties,  the 
labors,  the  trials  to  temper  and  patience,  that  may  he  ex- 
pected. Now,  this  is  unjustly  laying  the  burden  of  many 
5  thousand  moments  upon  one.  Let  any  one  resolve  to  do 
right  now,  leaving  then  to  do  as  it  cai^  and  if  he  were  to 
live  to  the  age  of  Methuselah,  he  would  never  err.  But 
the  common  error  is,  to  resolve  to  act  right  to-morrow,  or 
next  time ;  but  now,  just  this  once,  we  must  go  on  the 

10  same  as  ever. 

It  seems  easier  to  do  right  to-morrow  than  to-day,  merely 
because  we  forget  that  when  to-morrow  comes,  then  will  be 
now.  Thus  life  passes,  with  many,  in  resolutions  for  the 
future  which  the  present  never  fulfils. 

15  It  is  not  thus  with  those  who,  "by  patient  continuance 
in  well-doing,  seek  for  glory,  honor,  and  immortality." 
Day  by  day,  minute  by  minute,  they  execute  the  appointed 
task  to  which  the  requisite  measure  of  time  and  strength 
is  proportioned;  and  thus,  having  worked  while  it  was 

20  called  day,  they  at  length  rest  from  their  labors,  and  their 
works  "  follow  them." 

Let  us  then,  "  whatever  our  hands  find  to  do,  do  it  with 
all  our  might,"  recollecting  that  now  is  the  proper  and 
the  accepted  time. 


IV.  — THE   <^LD   CL^CK    ON    THE   STAIKS. 
Longfellow. 

[Henry  Wadswortii  Longfellow  is  a  native  of  Portland,  Maine,  and 
was  graduated  at  Bowdoin  College  in  1825.  Soon  after  leaving  college  he  went 
to  Europe,  and  remained  there  till  1829.  He  then  returned  home  and  assumed 
the  duties  of  professor  of  modern  languages  at  Bowdoin  College.  He  re- 
signed his  post  in  1835,  and  visited  Europe  again,  and  upon  his  return  in  1836, 
was  appointed  to  a  similar  professorship  in  the  University  at  Cambridge. 
Here  he  has  resided  ever  since,  but  he  resigned  his  professorship  in  1854. 

Mr.  I(.ongfellow  holds  a  very  high  rank  among  the  authors  of  America,  and 
is  one  of  the  most  popular  of  living  poets.  He  has  written  "  Evangeline," 
"  The  Golden  Legend,"  "  The  Song  of  Hiawatha,"  and  ♦'  The  Courtship 


w 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  13 

of  Miles  Standish,"  narrative  poems  of  considerable  length;  "The  Spanish 
Student,"  a  play  ;  and  a  great  number  of  smaller  pieces.  He  has  a  fruitful 
imagination,  under  the  control  of  the  most  perfect  taste,  and  a  remarkable 
power  of  illustrating  moods  of  mind  and  states  of  feeling  by  material  forms. 
He  has  a  great  command  of  beautiful  diction,  and  equal  skill  in  the  structure 
of  his  verse.  His  poetry  is  marked  by  tenderness  of  feeling,  purity  of  sen- 
timent, elevation  of  tliought,  and  healthiness  of  tone.  He  understands  and 
can  express  all  the  affections  of  the  human  heart.  The  happy  delight  in  his 
poems  ;  and  they  fall  with  soothing  and  sympathizing  touch  upon  those  who 
have  suffered.  His  readers  are  more  than  admirers  ;  tliey  become  friends. 
And  over  all  that  he  has  written  there  hangs  a  beautiful  ideal  light,— the 
atmosphere  of  poetry,  —  which  illuminates  his  page  as  the  sunsliine  does  the 
natural  landscape. 

Mr.  Longfellow  has  also  won  enduring  praise  as  a  prose  writer.  His 
**  Outre-mer,"  a  collection  of  travelling  sketches  and  miscellaneous  essays,  his 
"  Hyperion,"  a  romance,  and  his  "  Kavanagh,"  a  domestic  story,  are  marked 
by  the  same  traits  as  his  poetry.  He  is  a  "warbler  of  poetic  prose;"  and 
would  be  entitled  to  the  honors  of  a  poet  had  he  never  written  a  line  of 
verse.  His  "  Hyperion,"  especially,  is  full  of  beautiful  description,  rich  fancy, 
and  sweet  and  pensive  thought.  He  is  also  a  man  of  extensive  literary  attain- 
ments, familiar  with  the  languages  of  modern  Europe,  and  a  great  master  in 
the  difficult  art  of  translation.] 

1     Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country-seat ; 
Across  its  antique  portico. 
Tall  poplar-trees  their  shadows  throw ; 
And  from  its  station  in  the  hall, 
An  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all,  — 

"Forever — never! 

Never  —  forever  I " 


Halfway  up  the  stairs  it  stands, 
And  points  and  beckons  with  its  hands 
From  its  case  of  massive  oak, 
Like  a  monk,  who,  under  his  cloak, 
Crosses  himself,  and  sighs,  alas ! 
With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  that  pass,  — 

' '  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light ; 
But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night, 
2 


14  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall, 

It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall, 

Along  the  ceiling,  along  the  floor. 

And  seems  to  say,  at  each  chamber  door,  -— 

**  Forever — never ! 

Never — forever.  *  * 

4  Through  days  of  sorrow  and  of  mirth, 
Through  days  of  death  and  days  of  birth, 
Through  every  swift  vicissitude 

Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  it  has  stood, 
And  as  if,  like  God,  it  all  things  saw, 
It  calmly  repeats  those  words  of  awe,  — 

**  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever!" 

5  In  that  mansion  used  to  be 
Free-hearted  hospitality ; 

His  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roared; 
The  stranger  feasted  at  his  board ; 
But,  like  the  skeleton  at  the  feast. 
That  warning  timepiece  never  ceased,  — 
**  Forever  —  never ! 
.    Never  —  forever ! ' ' 

6  There  groups  of  merry  children  played ; 
There  youths  and  maidens  dreaming  strayed. 
0  precious  hours !  0  golden  prime, 

And  affluence  of  love  and  time ! 
Even  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold, 
Those  hours  the  ancient  timepiece  told,  — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

7  From  that  chamber,  clothed  in  white, 

The  bride  came  forth  on  her  wedding  night ; 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  15 

There,  in  that  silent  room  below, 
The  dead  lay  in  his  shroud  of  snow ; 
And  in  the  hush  that  followed  prayer, 
Was  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair,  — 

*'  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever ! " 

All  are  scattered  now  and  fled, 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead ; 
And  when  I  ask,  with  throbs  of  pain, 
*'  Ah !  when  shall  they  all  meet  again  ?  " 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by, 
The  ancient  timepiece  makes  reply,  — 

"Forever  —  never! 

Never  —  forever ! " 

Never  here,  forever  there. 
Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care, 
And  death  and  time  shall  disappear,  — 
Forever  there,  but  never  here ! 
The  horologe  of  eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly,  — 

**  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever  I  " 


v.  — KIP  VAN  WINKLE/ 
Irving. 

[Washington  Irving,  the  most  popular  of  American  authors,  and  one  of 
the  most  popular  writers  in  the  English  language  during  his  time,  was  born 
in  New  York,  April  8, 1783,  and  died  November  28, 1859.  His  numerous  works 
are  too  well  known  to  need  enumeration  ;  and  his  countrymen  are  so  familiar 
Avith  the  graces  of  his  style  and  the  charm  of  his  delightful  genius,  that  any 
extended  criticism  would  be  superfluous.  His  writings  are  remarkable  for 
their  combination  of  rich  and  original  humor  with  great  refinement  of  feeling 
and  delicacy  of  sentiment.  His  humor  is  unstained  by  coarseness,  and  his 
sentiment  is  neither  mawkish  nor  morbid.    His  style  is  carefully  finished,  and 


16  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

in  hifi  most  elaborate  productions  the  uniform  music  of  his  cadences  approaches 
monotony.  He  is  an  accurate  observer,  and  his  descriptions  are  correct,  an- 
imated, and  beautiful.  In  his  biographical  and  historical  works  his  style  is 
flowing,  easy,  and  transparent.  His  personal  character  was  aflTectionate  and 
amiable,  and  these  traits  penetrate  his  writings,  and  constitute  no  small 
portion  of  their  charm.  Few  writers  have  ever  awakened  in  their  readers  a 
stronger  personal  interest  than  Irving ;  and  the  sternest  critic  could  not  deal 
harshly  with  an  author  who  showed  himself  to  be  so  gentle  and  kindly  a  man. 
The  following  extract  is  from  "  Rip  Van  Winkle,"  one  of  the  papers  in 
<'  The  Sketch  Book."  Hip  is  an  indolent,  good-humored  fellow,  living  in  a 
village  on  the  Hudson  River.  While  shooting  among  the  Catskill  Mountains, 
he  meets  with  a  mysterious  party  engaged  in  rolling  ninepins,  drinks  deeply 
of  the  liquor  they  furnish  him,  and  falls  into  a  sleep  which  lasts  twenty  years, 
during  which  our  Revolutionary  War  takes  place.  After  waking,  he  returns 
to  the  village,  which  he  finds  busied  with  an  election.] 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old  resort, 
the  village  inn  —  but  it  too  was  gone.  A  large,  rick- 
ety wooden  building  stood  in  its  place,  with  great 
gaping  windows,  some  of  them  broken,  and  mended  with 
5  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and  over  the  door  was  painted, 
"  The  Union  Hotel,  by  Jonathan  Doolittle."  Instead  of 
the  great  tree  that  used  to  shelter  the  quiet  little  Dutch 
inn  of  yore,  there  now  was  reared  a  tall  naked  pole,  with 
something  on  top  that  looked  like  a  red  nightcap,  and 

10  from  it  was  fluttering  a  flag,  on  which  was  a  singular  as- 
semblage of  stars  and  stripes  —  all  this  was  strange  and 
incomprehensible. 

He  recognized  on  the  sign,  however,  the  ruby  face  of 
King  George,   under  which  he  had  smoked  so  many  a 

15  peaceful  pipe ;  but  even  this  was  singularly  metamor- 
phosed. The  red  coat  was  changed  for  one  of  blue  and 
buff",  a  sword  was  held  in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre, 
the  head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat,  and  underneath 
was  painted  in  large  characters.  General  Washington. 

20  There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  about  the  door,  but  none 
that  Eip  recollected.  The  very  character  of  the  people 
seemed  changed.  There  was  a  busy,  bustling,  disputa- 
tious tone  about  it,  instead  of  the  accustomed  phlegm  and 
drowsy  tranquillity. 

He  looked  in  vain  for  the  sage  Nicholas  Vedder,  with 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  17 

his  broad  face,  double  chin,  and  fair  long  pipe,  uttering* 
clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  instead  of  idle  speeches ;  or  Van- 
Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling  forth  the  contents  of  an 
ancient  newspaper.  In  place  of  these,  a  lean,  bilious  look- 
5  ing  fellow,  with  his  pockets  full  of  handbills,  was  har- 
ranguing  vehemently  about  rights  of  citizens  —  elections  — 
members  of  congress  —  liberty  —  Bunker's  hill  —  heroes 
of  seventy-six — and  other  words,  which  were  a  perfect 
Babylonish  jargon  to  the  bewildered  Van  Winkle. 

10  The  appearance  of  Eip,  with  his  long  grizzled  beard, 
his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and  an  army 
of  women  and  children  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  tavern  politicians.  They  crowded  round 
him,  eyeing  him  from  head  to  foot  with  great  curiosity. 

15  The  orator  bustled  up  to  him,  and,  drawing  him  partly 
aside,  inquired  "  on  which  side  he  voted  ?  " 

Eip  stared  in  vacant  stupidity.  Another  short  but  busy 
little  fellow  pulled  him  by  the  arm,  and  rising  on  tiptoe, 
inquired  in  his  ear,  "  whether  he  was  Federal  or  Demo- 

20  crat?"  Kip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the 
question ;  when  a  knowing,  self-important  old  gentleman, 
in  a  sharp  cocked  hat,  made  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
putting  them  to  the  right  and  left  with  his  elbows  as 
he  passed,  and  planting  himself  before  Van  Winkle,  with 

25  one  arm  akimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his  keen 
eyes  and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his  very 
soul,  demanded  in  an  austere  tone,  "  what  brought  him 
to  the  election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  mob 
at  his  heels,  and  whether  he  meant  to  breed  a  riot  in  the 

30  village?" 

"Alas!  gentlemen,"  cried  Kip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "  I 
am  a  poor  quiet  man,  a  native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal 
subject  of  the  King,  God  bless  him  !  " 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  by-standers —  "A 

35  tory !  a  tory !  a  spy !  a  refugee !  hustle  him !  away  with 
him ! "     It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  self-impor- 
2» 


18  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

tant  man  in  the  cocked  hat  restored  order;  and,  having 
assumed  a  tenfold  austerity  of  brow,  demanded  again  of 
the  unknown  culprit,  what  he  came  there  for,  and  whom 
he  was  seeking. 
5  The  poor  man  humhly  assured  him  that  he  meant  no 
harm,  hut  merely  came  there  in  search  of  some  of  his 
neighbors,  who  used  to  keep  about  the  tavern. 

"Well  —  who  are  they?  —  name  them." 

Eip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired,  "Where's 
10  Nicholas  Vedder?" 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old  man 

replied,  in  a  thin  piping  voice,  "  Nicholas  Vedder !  why, 

he 's  dead  and  gone  these  eighteen  years !     There  was  a 

wooden  tombstone  in  the  church-yard  that  used  to  tell  all 

15  about  him,  but  that's  rotten  and  gone  too." 

"  Where 's  Brom  Butcher  ?  " 

**  Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of  the 
war ;   some  say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of  Stony- 
Point —  others  say  he  was  drowned  in   a  squall  at  the 
20  foot  of  Antony's  Nose.     I  don't  know  —  he  never  came 
back  again." 

"Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster?" 

"  He  went  off  to  the  wars  too,  was  a  great  militia  gen- 
eral, and  is  now  in  Congress." 
25  Eip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of  these  sad  changes 
in  his  home  and  friends,  and  finding  himself  thus  alone  in 
the  world.  Every  answer  puzzled  him  too,  by  treating  of 
such  enormous  lapses  of  time,  and  of  matters  which  he 
could  not  understand :  war  —  congress  —  Stony-Point ;  -j- 
30  he  had  no  courage  to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but 
cried  out  in  despair,  "  Does  nobody  here  know  Eip  Van 
Winkle?" 

"  Oh,  Eip  Van  Winkle !  "  exclaimed  two  or  three,  "  Oh, 
to  be  sure  !  that 's  Eip  Van  Winkle  yonder,  leaning  against 
35  the  tree." 

Eip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of  himself 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  19 

as  he  went  up  tlie  mountain,  apparently  as  lazy,  and  cer- 
tainly as  ragged.  The  poor  fellow  was  now  completely 
confounded.  He  doubted  his  own  identity,  and  whether 
he  was  himself  or  another  man.  In  the  midst  of  his  hewil- 
6  derment,  the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded  who  he  was, 
and  what  was  his  name  ? 

"God  knows,"  exclaimed  he,  at  his  wit's  end;  "I'm 
not  myself — I'm  somebody  else  —  that's  me  yonder — ' 
no  —  that's  somebody  else   got  into   my  shoes  —  I  was 

10  myself  last  night,  but  I  fell  asleep  on  the  mountain,  and 
they  've  changed  my  gun,  and  every  thing 's  changed,  and 
I  'm  changed,  and  I  can't  tell  what 's  my  name,  or  who  I 
am!" 

The  by-standers  began  now  to  look  at  each  other,  nod, 

15  wink  significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against  their  fore- 
heads. There  was  a  whisper,  also,  about  securing  the 
gun,  and  keeping  the  old  fellow  from  doing  mischief,  at 
the  very  suggestion  of  which  the  self-important  man  in 
the  cocked  hat  retired  with  some  precipitation. 

20  At  this  critical  moment  a  fresh  comely  woman  pressed 
through  the  throng  to  get  a  peep  at  the  gray-bearded  man. 
She  had  a  chubby  child  in  her  arms,  which,  frightened  at 
his  looks,  began  to  cry.  "Hush,  Kip,"  cried  she,  "hush, 
you  little  fool ;  the  old  man  won't  hurt  you."     The  name 

25  of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
all  awakened  a  train  of  recollections  in  his  mind.     "  What 
is  your  name,  my  good  woman?  "  asked  he. 
"  Judith  Gardenier." 
"  And  your  father's  name  ?  " 

30  "  Ah,  poor  man,  Eip  Van  Winkle  was  his  name ;  but  it 's 
twenty  years  since  he  went  away  from  home  with  his  gun, 
and  never  has  been  heard  of  since.  —  His  dog  came  home 
without  him  ;  but  whether  he  shot  himself,  or  was  carried 
away  by  the  Indians,  nobody  can  tell.     I  was  then  but  a 

35  little  girl." 

The  honest  man  could  contain  himself  no  longer.     He 


20  hillard's  sixth  eeader. 

caught  his  daughter  and  her  child  in  his  arms.  "  I  am 
your  father!  "  cried  he,  —  "young  Eip  A^an  Winkle  once, 
old  Eip  Van  Winkle  now  !  —  Does  nobody  know  poor  Kip 
Van  Winkle?" 
5  All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering  out 
from  among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and 
peering  under  it  in  his  face  for  a  moment,  exclaimed, 
"Sure  enough  I  it  is  Bip  Van  Winkle  —  it  is  himself ! 
Welcome  home  again,  old  neighbor. — Why,  where  have  you 

10  been  these  twenty  long  years? " 

Kip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty  years 
had  been  to  him  but  as  one  night.  The  neighbors  stared 
when  they  heard-  it ;  some  were  seen  to  wink  at  each  other, 
and  put  their  tongues  in  their  cheeks :  and  the  self-impor- 

15  tant  man  in  the  cocked  hat,  who,  when  the  alarm  was 
over,  had  returned  to  the  field,  screwed  down  the  cor- 
ners of  his  mouth,  and  shook  his  head  —  upon  which  there 
was  a  general  shaking  of  the  head  throughout  the  assem- 
blage. 

20  It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion  of  old 
Peter  Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  advancing  up  the 
road.  He  was  a  descendant  of  the  historian  of  that  name, 
who -wrote  one  of  the  earliest  accounts  of  the  province. 
Peter  was  the  most  ancient  inhabitant  of  the  village,  and 

25  well  versed  in  all  the  wonderful  events  and  traditions  of 
the  neighborhood. 

He  recollected  Kip  at  once,  and  corroborated  his  story 
in  the  most  satisfactory  manner.  He  assured  the  company 
that  it  was  a  fact,  handed  down  from  his  ancestor  the 

30  historian,  that  the  Kaatskill  Mountains  had  always  been 
haunted  by  strange  beings.  That  it  was  affirmed  that  the 
great  Hendrick  Hudson,  the  first  discoverer  of  the  river 
and  country,  kept  a  kind  of  vigil  there  every  twenty  years, 
with  his  crew  of  the  Half-moon ;  being  permitted  in  this 

35  way  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  enterprise,  and  keep  a 
guardian  eye  upon  the  river,  and  the  great  city  called  by 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  21 

his  name.  That  his  father  had  once  seen  them  in  their 
old  Dutch  dresses  playing  at  ninepins  in  a  hollow  of  the 
mountain;  and  that  he  himself  had  heard,  one  summer 
afternoon,  the  sound  of  their  balls,  like  distant  peals  of 
5  thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke  up,  and 
returned  to  the  more  important  concerns  of  the  election. 
Eip's  daughter  took  him  home  to  live  with  her;  she  had  a 
snug,  well-furnished  house,  and  a  stout  cheery  farmer  for 

10  a  husband,  whom  Eip  recollected  for  one  of  the  urchins 
that  used  to  climb  upon  his  back.  As  to  Eip's  son  and 
heir,  who  was  the  ditto  of  himself,  seen  leaning  against 
the  tree,  he  was  employed  to  work  on  the  farm ;  but 
evinced  an  hereditary  disposition  to  attend  to  anything, 

15  else  but  his  business. 

Eip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  habits ;  he  soon 
found  many  of  his  former  cronies,  though  all  rather  the 
worse  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  time ;  and  preferred  making 
friends  among  the  rising  generation,  with  whom  he  soon 

20  grew  into  great  favor. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived  at 
that  happy  age  when  a  man  can  be  idle  with  impunity, 
he  took  his  place  once  more  on  the  bench  at  the  inn  door, 
and  was  reverenced  as  one  of  the  patriarchs  of  the  village, 

25  and  a  chronicle  of  the  old  times  "  before  the  war.'' 

It  was  some  time  before  he  could  get  into  the  regular 
track  of  gossip,  or  could  be  made  to  comprehend  the 
strange  events  that  had  taken  place  during  his  torpor. 
How  that  there  had  been  a  revolutionary  war  —  that  the 

30  country  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of  old  England — a^d 
that,  instead  of  being  a  subject  of  his  Majesty  George  the 
Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen  of  the  'United  States. 
Eip,  in  fact,  was  no  politician ;  the  changes  of  states  and 
empires  made  but  little  impression  on  him. 

35  He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  arrived 
at  Mr.  Doolittle's  hotel.      He  was  observed,  at  first,  to 


22  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

vary  on  some  points  every  time  he  told  it,  whicli  was, 
doubtless,  owing  to  his  having  so  recently  awaked.  It  at 
last  settled  down  precisely  to  the  tale  I  have  related,  and 
not  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in  the  neighborhood,  but 
5  knew  it  by  heart.  Some  always  pretended  to  doubt  the 
reality  of  it,  and  insisted  that  Kip  had  been  out  of  his 
head,  and  that  this  was  one  point  on  which  he  always 
remained  flighty.  The  old  Dutch  inhabitants,  however, 
almost  universally  gave  it  full  credit. 

10  Even  to  this  day  they  never  hear  a  thunder-storm  of  a 
summer  afternoon  about  the  Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hen- 
drick  Hudson  and  his  crew  are  at  their  game  of  ninepins ; 
and  it  is  a  common  wish  of  all  hen-pecked  husbands  in  the 
neighborhood,  when  life  hangs  heavy  on  their  hands,  that 

15  they  might  have  a  quieting  draught  out  of  Kip  Van  Win- 
kle's flagon. 


VI.  — T^   A  WATER-r«WL. 

Bryant. 

[William  Cullen  Bryant  was  born  in  Cummington,  Massachusetts, 
November  3, 17&4.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  but  soon  left  the  profession 
of  the  law,  and  has  for  many  years  resided  in  or  near  the  city  of  New  York, 
as  one  of  the  editors  and  proprietors  of  the  "New  York  Evening  Post,"  a 
daily  paper  which  has  a  wide  circulation  and  much  influence.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary to  point  out,  at  any  length,  the  merits  of  a  poet  whose  productions  were 
the  delight  of  his  own  countrymen,  and  were  well  known  abroad,  long  before 
the  young  persons,  for  whose  use  this  work  is  intended,  were  born.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  his  poems  are  distinguished  by  the  perfect  iinish  of  their 
style,  their  elevated  tone,  their  dignity  of  sentiment,  and  their  lovely  pictures 
of  American  scenery.  He  is,  at  once,  the  most  truthful  and  the  most  delight- 
ful of  painters.  "We  find  in  his  pages  all  the  most  obvious  and  all  the  most 
retiring  graces  of  our  native  landscapes,  but  nothing  borrowed  from  books  — 
nothing  transplanted  from  a  foreign  soU.J 

1  Whither,  midst  falling  dew. 

While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far  through  their  rosy  depths  dost  thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way  ? 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  23 

2  Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 
Thy  figure  floats  along. 

3  Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  ? 

4  There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast,  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air,  — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

5  All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned. 

At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere. 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 
Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

6  And  soon  that  toil  shall  end ; 

Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend 
Soon  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

7  Thou  'rt  gone  ;  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form ;  yet,  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

8  He  who,  from  zone  to  zone. 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone 
Will  lead  my  steps  aright 


hillard's  sixth  reader. 


VII.  — MORNING  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS  OF  SCf>TLAND. 
EXECUTION    OF    A   HOSTAGE   FfeR   BREACH    ^F    FAITH. 

Scott. 

[Walter  Scott  was  born  in  Edinburg-h,  August  15,  1771,  and  died  at  Ab- 
botsford,  September  21,  1832.  In  1792  he  was  called  to  the  Scotch  bar  as  an 
\  advocate ;  but  he  made  little  progress  in  his  profession,  and  was  soon  allured 
from  it  by  the  higher  attractions  of  literati^re.  After  having  written  and  pub- 
lished a  few  fugitive  pieces,  and  edited  a  collection  of  border  ballads,  he  broke 
Upon  the  world,  in  1805,  with  his  "l.ay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  which  was  re- 
ceived with  a  burst  of  admiration  almbst  without  parallel  in  literary  history. 
This  was  followed  by  "  Marmion,"  and  "  The  Lady  of\he  Lake,"  which  added 
to  the  author's  reputation,  and  by  "  Rokeby,"  and  "  The  Lord  of  the  Isles," 
which  fairly  sustaine?!  it.  These  poems  were  unlike  anything  that  had  pre-. 
\  ceded  them.  Their  versification  was  easy  and  graceful,  though  sometimes 
careless  ;  their  style  was  energetic  and  condensed  ;  their  pictures  were  glow- 
ing and  faithful ;  the  characters  and  incidents  were  fresh  and  startling ;  and  in 
the  battle  scenes  there  was  a  power  of  painting  which  rivaj^led  the  pages  of 
Homer.  The  whole  civilized  world  rose  up  to  greet  with  admiration  the  poet 
who  transported  them  to  the  lakes  and  mountains  of  Scotland,  introduced 
them  to  knights  and  moss-troopers,  and  thrilled  them  with  scenes  of  wild 
adveuture  and  lawless  violence.  Scott  held  excli^sive  possession  of  the  poeti- 
cal t^irone  until  Lord  Byron  disputed  it  with  him^  and  won  a  popularity  more 
Intense,  if  not  more  wide.  N 

But  these  briUiant  and  successful  poems  were  hardly  more  than  an  intro- 
duction to  Scott's  literary  career.  In  1814,  there  appeared,  without  any  pj;e- 
liminary  announcement,  and  anonymously,  a  novel  called  "  Waverley,"  which 
soon  attracted  great  attention,  and  gave  rise  to  much  speculation  as  to  its  au- 
thorship. This  was  ilie  beginning  of  that  splendid  serics\)f  works  of  fiction 
commonly  called  the  Waverley  novels,  which  continued  to  be  poured  fortlTin 
rapid  succession  till  1827.  From  the  first,  there  was  very  little  doubt  that 
Scott  was  the  author  of  these  works,  althougli  they  were  published  without 
any  name  ;  and  when  the  avowal  was  made,  in  1827,  it  took  nobody  by  surprise. 
Of  the  great  powers  put  fort^  in  these  novels  —  of  their  immense  popularity  — 
and  of  the  influence  they  have  exerted,  and  are  still  exerting,  upon  literature, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  speak,  nor  could  such  a  subject  be  discussed  in  a  notice 
like  this.  Admirable  as  the  whole  series  is,  there  is  a  power,  a  freshness,  and 
an  originality  in  the  earlier  ones,  such  as  "  Guy  Mannering,"  and  "  The  Anti- 
quary,""^whcre  the  scenery  and  characters  are  Scotch,  which  give  them  a 
marked  superiority  overlhcir  younger  brethren. 

Besides  his  "poems  and  novels,  Scott  wrote  a  Life  of  Napoleon,  various  other 
biographies,  and  many  works  besides.  He  was  a  man  of  immense  literary  in-^ 
dustPy,  and  his  writings  fill  eighty-eight  volumes  of  small  octavo  size.  All 
tCis  did  not  prevent  his  discharging  faithfully  the  duties  of  a  citizen,  a  fatlier 
of  a  family,  and  (for  many  years)  of  a  magistrate. 

Scott's  life  has  been  written  by  his  son-in-law,  Lockhart ;  and  it  is  a  truth- 
ful record  of  what  he  was  and  what  he  did.  His  was  a  noble  nature,  with 
much  to  love  and  mucli  to  admire.  He  was  a  warm  friend,  most  affectionate 
in  his  domestic  relations,  and  ever  ready  to  do  kind  acts  to  those  who  stood 
in  need  of  them.  After,  his  first  literary  successes,  he  lived  before  the  public 
eye ;  and  since  his  death,  his  whole  life  and  being  have  been  exposed  to 


iiillard's  sixth  reader.  25 

the  general  gaze,  and  there  are  few  lives  on  record  that  would  bear  such  an 
•rdeal  better. 

In  consequence  of  an  unwise  secret  partnership  with  a  printer  and  pub- 
lisher, Scott  became  a  bankrupt  at  the  age  of  fifty-five.  He  met  this  blow  with 
an  heroic  spirit,  and  addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  discharging'  the  liabili- 
ties against  him,  with  a  moral  energy  which  was  nothing  less  than  sublime. 
The  amount  of  work  he  performed  between  this  date  and  that  of  his  death  is 
fearful  to  contemplate.  His  life  was  shortened  by  his  excessive  toils ;  but  he 
act-omplished  what  he  proposed  to  himself.  His  debts,  materially  diminished 
before  his  death,  have  since  been  entirely  discharged  by  the  profits  on  his  col- 
lected works.  In  the  portion  of  his  life,  from  his  bankruptcy  to  his  death, 
Scott's  character  shines  with  a  moral  grandeur  far  above  mere  literary  fame. 

Scott  was  made  a  baronet  in  1820. 

This  extract  is  from  "  liob  Roy,"  one  of  the  most  spirited  and  popular  of  the 
Waverley  novels,  originally  published  in  1S17.  Kob  Roy,  a  Highland  chieftain, 
had  been  taken  prisoner,  Morris,  an  Englishman,  had  been  sent  as  a  hostage 
to  guarantee  the  personal  safety  of  Rob  Roy.  The  violation  of  this  pledge 
called  down  upon  his  head  the  vengeance  of  the  wife  of  Rob  Roy, 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  delightful  sensation  with 
which  I  exchanged  the  dark,  smoky,  smothering  atmos- 
phere of  the  Highland  hut,  in  which  we  had  passed  the 
night  so  uncomfortably,  for  the  refreshing  fragrance  of 
5  the  morning  air,  and  the  glorious  beams  of  the  rising  sun, 
which,  from  a  tabernacle  of  purple  and  golden  clouds, 
were  darted  full  on  such  a  scene  of  natural  romance  and 
beauty  as  had  never  before  greeted  my  eyes.  To  the  left 
lay  the  valley,  down  which  the  Forth  wandered  on  its 

10  easterly  course,  surrounding  the  beautiful  detached  hill, 
with  all  its  garland  of  woods.  On  the  right,  amid  a  pro- 
fusion of  thickets,  knolls,  and  crags,  lay  the  bed  of  a 
broad  mountain  lake,  lightly  curled  into  tiny  waves  by 
the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze,  each  glittering  in  its 

15  course  under  the  influence  of  the  sunbeams.  High  hills, 
rocks,  and  banks,  waving  with  natural  forests  of  birch 
and  oak,  formed  the  borders  of  this  enchanting  sheet  of 
water ;  and,  as  their  leaves  rustled  to  the  wind  and  twin- 
kled in  the  sun,  gave  to  the  depth  of  solitude  a  sort  of 

20  life  and  vivacity.     Man  alone  seemed  to  be  placed  in  a 
state  of  inferiority,  in  a  scene  where  all  the  ordinary  feat- 
ures of  nature  were  raised  and  exalted. 
3 


26  hillaed's  sixth  reader."^ 

It  was  under  the  Iburning  influence  of  revenge  that  the 
wife  of  MacGregor  commanded  that  the  hostage,  exchanged 
for  her  husband's  safety,  should  be  brought  into  her  pres- 
ence. I  believe  her  sons  had  kept  this  unfortunate  wretch 
5  out  of  her  sight,  for  fear  of  the  consequences ;  but  if  it 
was  so,  their  humane  precaution  only  postponed  his  fate. 
They  dragged  forward,  at  her  summons,  a  wretch,  already 
half  dead  with  terror,  in  whose  agonized  features  I  recog- 
nized, to  my  horror  and  astonishment,  my  old  acquaint- 

10  ance  Morris. 

He  fell  prostrate  before  the  female  chief  with  an  effort 
to  clasp  her  knees,  from  which  she  drew  back,  as  if  his 
touclThad  been  pollution,  so  that  all  he  could  do  in  token 
of  the  extremity  of  his  humiliation,  was  to  kiss  the  hem 

15  of  her  plaid.  I  never  heard  entreaties  for  life  poured 
forth  with  such  agony  of  spirit.  The  ecstasy  of  fear  was 
such,  that,  instead  of  paralyzing  his  tongue,  as  on  ordi- 
nary occasions,  it  even  rendered  him  eloquent,  and,  with 
cheeks  as  pale  as  ashes,  hands  compressed  in  agony,  eyes 

20  that  seemed  to  be  taking  their  last  look  of  all  mortal 
objects,  he  protested,  with  the  deepest  oaths,  his  total 
ignorance  of  any  design  on  the  life  of  Eob  Eoy,  whom  he 
swore  he  loved  and  honored  as  his  own  soul.  —  In  the 
inconsistency  of  his  terror,  he  said,  he  was  but  the  agent 

25  of  others,  and  he  muttered  the  name  of  Eashleigh.  —  He 
prayed  but  for  life  —  for  life  he  would  give  all  he  had  in 
the  world  ;  —  it  was  but  life  he  asked  —  life,  if  it  were  to 
be  prolonged  under  tortures  and  privations  ;  —  he  asked 
only  breath,  though  it  should  be  drawn  in  the  damps  of 

30  the  lowest  caverns  of  their  hills. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  scorn,  the  loathing,  and 
contempt,  with  which  the  wife  of  MacGregor  regarded  this 
wretched  petitioner  for  the  poor  boon  of  existence. 

"I  could  have  bid  you  live,"  she  said,  "had  life  been 

35  to  you  the  same  weary  and  wasting  burden  that  it  is  to 
me  —  that  it  is  to  every  noble  and  generous  mind.  —  But 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  27 

you  —  wretch !  you  could  creep  through  the  world  unaf- 
fected by  its  various  disgraces,  its  ineffable  miseries,  its 
constantly  acccumulating  masses  of  crime  and  sorrow ;  — 
you  could  live  and  enjoy  yourself,  while  the  noble-minded 
5  are  betrayed,  —  while  nameless  and  birthlcss  villains 
tread  on  the  neck  of  the  brave  and  long-descended ;  —  you 
could  enjoy  yourself,  like  a  butcher's  dog  in  the  shambles, 
fattening  on  garbage,  while  the  slaughter  of  the  brave 
went  on  around  you !     This  enjoyment  you  shall  not  live 

10  to  partake  of;  you  shall  die,  base  dog,  and  that  before 
yon  cloud  has  passed  over  the  sun  !  " 

She  gave  a  brief  command,  in  Gaelic,  to  her  attendants, 
two  of  whom  seized  upon  the  prostrate  suppliant,  and  hur- 
ried him  to  the  brink  of  a  cliff  which  overhung  the  flood. 

15  He  set  up  the  most  piercing  and  dreadful  cries  that  fear 
ever  uttered  —  I  may  well  term  them  dreadful,  for  they 
haunted  my  sleep  for  years  afterwards.  As  the  mur- 
derers, or  executioners,  call  them  as  you  will,  dragged 
him  along,  he  recognized  me  even  in  that  moment  of  hor- 

20  ror,  and  exclaimed,  in  the  last  articulate  words  I  ever 
heard  him  utter,  "  0,  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  save  me !  —  save 


me 


I  was  so  much  moved  by  this  horrid  spectacle,  that, 
although  in  momentary  expectation  of  sharing  his  fate,  I 

25  did  attempt  to  speak  in  his  behalf,  but,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  my  interference  was  sternly  disregarded. 
The  victim  was  held  fast  by  some,  while  others,  binding  a 
large  heavy  stone  in  a  plaid,  tied  it  round  his  neck,  and 
others  again  eagerly  stripped  him  of  some  part  of  his 

30  dress.  Half  naked,  and  thus  manacled,  they  hurried  him 
into  the  lake,  there  about  twelve  feet  deep,  drowning  his 
last  death-shriek  with  a  loud  halloo  of  vindictive  triumph, 
over  which,  however,  the  yell  of  mortal  agony  was  dis- 
tinctly heard.     The  heavy  burden  splashed  in  the  dark 

35  blue  waters  of  the  lake,  and  the  Highlanders,  with  their 
pole-axes  and  swords,  watched  an  instant,  to  guard,  lest, 


28  hillard's  sixth  header. 

extricating  himself  from  tlie  load  to  which  he  was  at- 
tached, he  might  have  struggled  to  regain  the  shore.     But 

N^  the  knot  had  been  securely  bound  ;  the  victim  sunk  with- 
out effort ;  the  waters,  which  his  fall  had  disturbed,  set- 

5  tied  calmly  over  him,  and  the  unit  of  that  life,  for  which 
he  had  pleaded  so  strongly,  was  forever  withdrawn  from 
the  sum  of  human  existence. 


VIII.  — THE    SLAVE-TKADE. 

W^EBSTER. 

[Daniel  "Webster  was  born  at  Salisbury,  New  Hampshire,  January  18, 
1782,  and  clied  at  Marshfielcl,  Massachusetts,  October  24,  1852.  He  was  grad- 
uutod  at  Dartmouth  College  in  1801,  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1805,  and  set- 
tled in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire,  in  1807.  He  was  a  member  of  the  House 
of  Representatives  from  New  Hampshire  from  1813  to  1817.  In  the  latter  part 
of  1810  he  removed  to  Boston,  and  resided  in  that  city,  or  at  Marshfield,  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  his  life.  He  was  chosen  to  the  House  of  Representatives 
from  the  district  of  Boston  in  1822,  and  was  a  member  of  that  body  till  1827, 
when  he  was  elected  to  the  United  States  Senate  by  the  Legislature  of  Mas- 
sachusetts.  He  continued  there  during  the  remainder  of  his  life,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  two  intervals,  when  he  held  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State,  first 
under  the  administrations  of  Presidents  Harrison  and  Tyler,  and  secondly 
under  that  of  President  Fillmore. 

For  the  last  twenty-five  years  of  his  hfe,  Mr.  Webster's  biography  is  iden- 
tified with  the  history  of  his  country.  Having  been  a  leader  of  one  of  its  great 
political  parties,  the  time  has  hardly  yet  come  for  a  calm  and  unbiased  judg- 
ment to  be  passed  uix)n  his  services ;  but  no  candid  mind  will  ever  question 
the  sincerity  and  comprehensiveness  of  his  patriotism,  still  less  the  splendor 
of  his  intellectual  powers.  He  was  a  great  lawyer,  a  great  statesman,  a  great 
debater,  and  a  great  writer.  As  a  writer  —  in  which  point  of  view  alone  we 
have  now  to  regard  him — he  stands  among  the  very  first  of  his  class.  No 
style  can  be  found  more  suited  for  the  subjects  of  which  it  treats  than  his.  It 
is  strong,  simple,  and  dignified ;  vehement  and  impassioned  when  necessary  ; 
readily  rising  into  eloquence,  and  occasionally  touched  with  high  imaginative 
beauty.  He  excels  in  the  statement  of  a  case  or  the  exposition  of  a  principle ; 
and  in  his  occasional  discourses  there  are  passages  of  a  lofty  moral  grandeur 
by  which  the  heart  and  mind  are  alike  affected.  Some  of  his  state  papers  may 
fairly  challenge  comparison  with  the  best  productions  of  the  kind  which  the 
past  has  transmitted  to  us. 

The  following  passage  is  taken  from  a  discourse,  pronounced  at  Plymouth, 
December  22, 1820,  in  commemoration  of  the  first  settlement  of  New  England.] 

If  the  blessings  of  our  political  and  social  condition 
have  not  now  been  too  highly  estimated,  we  cannot  well 
overrate  the  responsibility  which  they  impose  upon  us. 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  29 

We  hold  these  institutions  of  government,  religion,  and 
learning,  to  be  transmitted  as  well  enjoyed.  We  are  in 
the  line  of  conveyance  through  which  whatever  has  been 
obtained  by  the  spirit  and  eflforts  of  our  ancestors,  is  to  be 
5  communicated  to  our  children. 

We  are  bound  to  maintain  public  liberty,  and,  by  the 
example  of  our  own  systems,  to  convince  the  world  that 
order  and  law,  religion  and  morality,  the  rights  of  con- 
science, the  rights  of  persons,  and  the  rights  of  property, 

10  may  all  be  preserved  and  secured  in  the  most  perfect  man- 
ner, by  a  government  entirely  and  purely  elective.  If  we 
fail  in  this,  our  disaster  will  be  signal,  and  will  furnish  an 
argument,  stronger  than  has  yet  been  found,  in  support  of 
those  opinions  which  maintain  that  government  can  rest 

15  safely  on  nothing  but  power  and  coercion. 

As  far  as  experience  may  show  errors  in  our  establish- 
ments, we  are  bound  to  correct  them ;  and  if  any  practices 
exist  contrary  to  the  principles  of  justice  and  humanity, 
within  the  reach  of  our  laws  or  our  influence,  we  are  inex- 

20  cusable  if  we  do  not  exert  ourselves  to  restrain  and  abolish 
them. 

I  deem  it  my  duty  on  this  occasion  to  suggest  that  the 
land  is  not  yet  wholly  free  from  the  contamination  of  a 
traffic  at  which  every  feeling  of  humanity  must  revolt  —  I 

25  mean  the  African  slave-trade.  Neither  public  sentiment 
nor  the  law  has  yet  been  able  entirely  to  put  an  end  to  this 
odious  and  abominable  trade.  At  the  moment  when  God 
in  his  mercy  has  blessed  the  world  with  a  universal  peace, 
there  is  reason  to  fear,  that,  to  the  disgrace  of  the  Chris- 

30  tian  name  and  character,  new  efforts  are  making  for  the 
extension  of  this  trade,  by  subjects  and  citizens  of  Chris- 
tian states,  in  whose  hearts  no  sentiment  of  justice  inhab- 
its, and  over  whom  neither  the  fear  of  God  nor  the  fear  of 
man  exercises  a  control. 

35       In  the  sight  of  our  law,  the  African  slave-trader  is  a 
pirate  and  a  felon ;  and  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  an  offender 
3* 


30  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

far  beyond  the  ordinary  depth  of  human  guilt.  There  is 
no  brighter  part  of  our  history  than  that  which  records 
the  measures  which  have  been  adopted  by  the  government, 
at  an  early  day,  and  at  diflferent  times  since,  for  the  sup- 
6  pression  of  this  traffic ;  and  I  would  call  upon  all  the  true 
sons  of  New  England  to  co-operate  with  the  laws  of  man 
and  the  justice  of  Heaven. 

If  there  be,  within  the  extent  of  our  knowledge  or  influ- 
ence, any  participation  in  this  traffic,  let  us  pledge  our- 

10  selves  here,  upon  the  Kock  of  Plymouth,  to  extirpate  and 
destroy  it.  It  is  not  fit  that  the  land  of  the  Pilgrims 
should  bear  the  shame  longer.  I  hear  the  sound  of  the 
hammer — I  see  the  smoke  of  the  furnaces  where  manacles 
and  fetters  are  still  forged  for  human  limbs.     I  see  the 

16  visages  of  those,  who  by  stealth,  and  at  midnight,  labor  in 

this  work  of  hell,  foul  and  dark,  as  may  become  the  artifi- 

'    cers  of  such  instruments  of  misery  and  torture.     Let  that 

spot  be  purified,  or  let  it  cease  to  be  of  New  England.    Let 

it  be  purified,  or  let  it  be  set  aside  from  the  Christian 

20  world ;  let  it  be  put  out  of  the  circle  of  human  sympathies 
and  human  regards ;  and  let  civilized  man  henceforth  have 
no  communion  with  it. 

I  would  invoke  those  who  fill  the  seats  of  justice,  and 
all  who  minister  at  her  altar,  that  they  execute  the  whole- 

25  some  and  necessary  severity  of  the  law.  I  invoke  the 
ministers  of  our  religion,  that  they  proclaim  its  denuncia- 
tion of  these  crimes,  and  add  its  solemn  sanctions  to  the 
authority  of  human  laws.  If  the  pulpit  be  silent,  when- 
ever or  wherever  there  may  be  a  sinner,  bloody  with  this 

30  guilt,  within  the  hearing  of  its  voice,  the  pulpit  is  false  to 
its  trust. 

I  call  on  the  fair  merchant,  who  has  reaped  his  harvest 
upon  the  seas,  that  he  assist  in  scourging  from  those  seas 
the  worst  pirates  that  ever  infested  them.     That  ocean 

35  which  seems  to  wave  with  a  gentle  magnificence,  to  waft 
the  burdens  of  an  honest  commerce,  and  to  roll  its  treas- 


i 


HILLARD^S    SIXTH   READER.  31 

ures  with    a   conscious   pride;    that   ocean  which  hardy 
'\  industry  regards,  even  when  the  winds  have  ruffled  its  sur- 
face, as  a  field  of  grateful  toil, — what  is  it  to  the  victim  of 
this  oppression  when  he  is  brought  to  its  shores,  and  looks 
6  forth  upon  it  for  the  first  time  from  beneath  chains,  and 
bleeding  with  stripes? — AVhat  is  it  to  him,  but  a  wide- 
spread prospect  of  sufiering,  anguish,  and  death?      Nor 
do  the  skies  smile  longer;  nor  is  the  air  fragrant  to  him. 
The  sun  is  cast  down  from  heaven.     An  inhuman  and 
10  cursed  traffic  has  cut  him  off  in  his  manhood,  or  in  hia 
youth,  from  every  enjoyment  belonging  to  his  being,  and 
every  blessing  which  his  Creator  intended  for  him. 


IX.  —  H®HENLINDEN. 

Campbell. 
[Thomas  Campbell  was  bom  in  Glasgow,  July  27, 1777,  and  died  in  Bou-'' 
logne,  France,  June  15,  1844.  His  first  poem,  "  The  Pleasures  of  Hope," 
was  published  in  1799,  and  was  universally  read  and  admired.  His  "  Gertrude 
of  Wyoming  "  was  published  in  1809,  and  was  received  with  equal  favor.  It 
contains  passages  of  great  descriptive  beauty,  and  the  concluding  portions 
are  full  of  pathos ;  but  the  story  moves  languidly,  and  there  is  a  want  of  truth 
in  the  costume,  and  of  probability  in  the  incidents.  His  genius  is  seen  to 
greater  advantage  in  his  shorter  poems,  such  as  '*  O'Connor's  Child,"  "  Lo- 
chiel's  Warning,"  "  Hohenlinden,"  "The  Battle  of  the  Baltic,"  and  "Ye 
Mariners  of  England."  These  are  matchless  poems,  —  with  a  ring  and  power 
that  stir  the  blood,  and  at  the  same  time  a  magic  of  expression  which  fastens 
the  words  forever  to  the  memory. 

f  No  other  poet  of  our  times  has  contributed  so  much,  in  proportion  to  the  ex- 
tent of  his  writings,  to  that  stock  of  established  quotations  which  pass  from  lip 
to  lip,  and  from  pen  to  pen,  without  any  thought  as  to  their  origin.  Campbell 
lived,  during  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  after  early  manhood,  in  London  or 
its  neighborhood,  and  was  for  some  years  editor  of  the  "  New  Monthly  3Iaga- 
zine."  He  wrote  in  prose  with  grace  and  animation.  The  preliminary  essay 
prefixed  to  his  Specimens  of  the  British  Poets  (first  published  in  1819)  is  an 
admirable  piece  of  criticism,  and  is  earnestly  commended  to  all  who  wish  to 
comprehend  the  wealth  of  the  poetical  literature  of  England.  Campbell's  dig- 
nity of  character  was  hardly  equal  to  his  intellectual  gifts  j  and  shadows  of 
infirmity  sometimes  darkened  the  bright  disk  of  his  genius.  He  was  much 
tried  in  his  domestic  relations.  His  wife,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  died 
many  years  before  him ;  and  of  two  sons,  his  whole  family,  one  died  in  child- 
hood, and  the  other,  who  survived  his  father,  was  of  infirm  mind  from  his 
birth. 

'  More  detailed  accounts  of  Campbell's  life  and  writings  may  be  found  in  his 
Life  and  Letters,  by  Dr.  William  Seattle,  and  in  a  good  biographical  sketch 


d2  HILLARD'S    SIXTH  READER. 

by  Mr.  Epes  Sargent,  prefixed  to  an  edition  of  his  poems  published  by  Phil-' 
lips,  Sampson  and  Co.,  of  Boston,  in  1854. 

Hohenliuden  (two  German  words  meaning  high  lime-trees)  is  the  name  of  a 
village  in  Bavaria  n«ar  which  the  Austrians,  under  the  Archduke  John,  were 
defeated  by  the  French  and  Bavarians,  under  General  Moreau,  December  3, 
1800.  A  snow-storm  had  fallen  in  the  night  before  the  battle,  and  had  hardly 
ceased  when  its  first  movements  began.  It  is  only  by  virtue  of  a  poetical 
license  that  the  river  Iser  (pronounced  e'zer)  is  made  a  part  of  the  scenery 
of  the  contest  as,  in  point  of  fact,  it  is  several  miles  distant.] 

1  On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow;' 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 

Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

2  But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat,  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

3  By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed. 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

4  Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven, 
Then  rushed  the  steed  to  battle  driven, 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven 
Ear  flashed  the  red  artillery. 

5  But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow, 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

6  'T  is  morn,  but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun. 
Where  furious  Erank,  and  fiery  Hun, 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 


hillakd's  sixth  keader.  33 

7  The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave, 
Wbo  msli  to  glory,  or  the  grave  ! 
Wave,  Munich  !  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  ! 

8  Tew,  few  shall  part  where  many  meet  I 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet, 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 


X.  — THE   HUSKEE'S    SONG. 

Whittiek. 

[John  Greenleaf  Whittier  was  born  in  Haverhill,  Massachusetts,  in 
1808.  He  has  written  much  in  prose  and  verse  ;  and  his  writings  are  charac- 
terized by  earnestness  of  tone,  high  moral  purpose,  and  energy  of  expression. 
His  spirit  is  that  of  a  sincere  and  fearless  reformer ;  and  his  fervant  appeals 
are  the  true  utterances  of  a  bravo  and  loving  heart.  The  themes  of  his  poetry 
have  been  drawn,  in  a  great  measure,  from  the  history,  traditions,  manners, 
and  scenery  of  New  England ;  and  he  has  found  the  elements  of  poetical  inter- 
est among  them  without  doing  any  violence  to  truth.  He  describes  natural 
scenery  correctly  and  beautifully;  and  a  vein  of  genuine  tenderness  rims 
through  his  writings.] 

1     Heap  high  the  farmer's  wintry  hoard  I 
Heap  high  the  golden  corn ! 
No  richer  gift  has  Autumn  poured 
Erom  out  her  lavish  horn. 


Let  other  lands,  exulting,  glean 

The  apple  from  the  pine, 
The  orange  from  its  glossy  green, 

The  cluster  from  the  vine :  — 

We  better  love  the  hardy  gift 

Our  rugged  vales  bestow, 
To  cheer  us  when  the  storm  shall  drift 

Our  harvest-fields  with  snow. 


34  hillaed's  sixth  eeader. 

4     Through  vales  of  grass  and  meads  of  flowers, 
Our  ploughs  their  furrows  made, 
While  on  the  hills  the  sun  and  showers 
Of  changeful  April  played. 

6     We  dropped  the  seed  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
Beneath  the  sun  of  May, 
And  frightened,  from  our  sprouting  grain, 


'\^K 


The  robber-crows  away.  <   I  f "''  gi 

6  All  through  the  long,  bright  days  of  Junt, 

Its  leaves  grew  green  and  fair. 
And  waved  in  hot  midsummer's  noon 
Its  soft  and  yellow  hair. 

7  And  now,  with  Autumn's  moonlit  eves, 

Its  harvest-time  has  come ; 
We  pluck  away  the  frosted  leaves. 
And  bear  the  treasure  home. 

8  There,  richer  than  the  fabled  gift, 

Apollo  showered  of  old, 
Fair  hands  the  broken  grain  shall  sift. 
And  knead  its  meal  of  gold, 

9  Let  vapid  idlers  loll  in  silk 

Around  their  costly  board ; 
Give  us  the  bowl  of  samp  and  milk. 
By  homespun  beauty  poured ! 

10     Where'er  the  wide  old  kitchen  hearth 
Sends  up  its  smoky  curls, 
Who  will  not  thank  the  kindly  earth, 
And  bless  our  farmer  girls  ? 


HILLARD^S    SIXTH   READER.  35 

11  Then  shame  on  all  the  proud  and  vain, 

Whose  folly  laughs  to  scorn 
The  blessing  of  our  hardy  grain,    .- 
Our  wealth  of  golden  corn. 

12  Let  earth  withhold  her  goodly  root, 

Let  mildew  blight  the  rye, 
Give  to  the  worm  the  orchard's  fruit, 
The  wheat-field  to  the  fly : 

13  But  let  the  good  old  crop  adorn 

The  hills  our  fathers  trod ; 
Still  let  us,  for  his  golden  corn. 
Send  up  our  thanks  to  God ! 


XL  — PAKALLEL    BETWEEN   P#PE    AND    DKYDEN. 

Johnson. 

[Samuel  Johnson  was  born  in  Litchfield,  England,  September  18, 1709,  and 
died  December  13,  1784.  Besides  his  great  work,  the  "  Dictionary  of  the  Eng- 
lish Language,"  which  occupied  many  laborious  years,  he  wrote  "  Irene,"  a 
tragedy  ;  "  London,"  and  "  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,"  poems  in  imita- 
tion of  Juvenal ;  "  Kasselas,"  a  tale  ;  "  The  Rambler,"  a  periodical  paper ;  "  A 
Tour  to  the  Hebrides ;"  *'  The  Lives  of  the  Poets ;"  various  other  biogra- 
phies ;  and  many  reviews,  miscellanies,  pamphlets,  and  contributions  to  peri- 
odical literature. 

The  peculiarities  of  Dr.  Johnson's  style  are  well  known.  It  is  artificial, 
elaborate,  delighting  in  antithesis  and  in  words  of  Latin  origin,  and  fre- 
quently pompous  and  heavy.  Its  defects  are  redeemed  by  essential  vigor 
of  mind,  but  it  is  very  easily  imitated,  and  when  adopted  by  men  of  com- 
monplace understanding,  it  is  like  Saul's  armor  upon  the  limbs  of  David. 
His  diction  grew  simpler,  as  he  grew  older,  and  his  "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  his 
latest  work,  is  also  his  best.  His  carefully  poised  periods,  also,  had  a  sensible 
effect  upon  the  general  structure  of  the  language  as  it  has  since  been  written. 

Dr.  Johnson's  character  was  a  singular  compound  of  strength  and  weak- 
ness. He  was  very  religious,  but  bigoted  and  superstitious.  His  judgment 
was  generally  sound,  but  he  was  full  of  the  most  unreasonable  prejudices. 
He  was  charitable  and  benevolent,  but  impetuous,  and  most  impatient  of  con- 
tradiction. His  conversation  was  rich  in  sense  and  wit,  but  his  manners  were 
intolerable.  He  was  capable  of  great  application,  though  not  habitually  in- 
dustrious.   He  was  of  a  morbid  temperameat,  and  his  spirit  was  often  dark- 


36  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

ened  by  constitutional  melancholy.  For  a  long  period,  too,  he  had  to  struggle 
against  poverty,  and  to  live  in  a  state  of  literary  slavery  most  galling  to  hie 
haughty  and  independent  spirit. 

Dr.  Johnson's  life  and  character  have  been  painted  to  us  — as  those  of  no 
man  of  letters  were  ever  before  painted  — in  his  biography  by  Boswell,  a 
most  instructive  and  delightful  book,  which  has  done  quite  as  much  for  John- 
son's fame  as  his  own  writings  have  done.  It  is  not  merely  a  biography  of 
Johnson,  but  a  record  of  the  social  and  literary  life  of  England,  during  the 
period  of  which  it  treats,  such  as  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found.  Till  the  pub- 
lication of  "Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott,"  there  was  no  other  such  work  in  the 
language  ;  and  these  two  are  not  proper  subjects  of  comparison,  but  each 
stands  alone  in  its  peculiar  and  unrivalled  excellence ;  both  full  of  dramatic  in- 
terest, possessing  the  highest  charm  of  fiction,  and  yet  richly  freighted  with 
the  fruits  of  wisdom,  observation,  and  experience. 

Two  of  the  greatest  writers  of  our  age  —  Macaulay  and  Carlyle  —  have  writ- 
ten essays  upon  the  life  and  writings  of  Johnson.  Each  is  characteristic  of 
its  author,  and  they  are  therefore  unlike  j  but  both  are  excellent,  and  deserve 
an  attentive  reading. 

The  following  extract  is  from  the  life  of  Pope  in  "  The  Lives  of  the  Poets," 
and  is  an  excellent  specimen  of  Johnson's  peculiar  style.] 

Pope  professed  to  have  learned  his  poetry  from  Dryden, 
whom,  whenever  an  opportunity  was  presented,  he  praised 
through  his  whole  life  with  unvaried  liberality  ;  and  per- 
haps his  character  may  receive  some  illustration,  if  he  be 
5  compared  with  his  master. 

Integrity  of  understanding,  and  nicety  of  discernment, 
were  not  allotted  in  a  less  proportion  to  Dryden  than  to 
Pope.  The  rectitude  of  Dryden' s  mind  was  sufficiently 
shown  by  the  dismission  of  his  poetical  prejudices,  and 

10  the  rejection  of  unnatural  thoughts  and  rugged  numbers. 
But  Dryden  never  desired  to  apply  all  the  judgment  that 
he  had.  He  wrote,  and  professed  to  write,  merely  for  the 
people ;  and  when  he  pleased  others,  he  contented  himself. 
He  spent  no  time  in  struggles  to  rouse  latent  powers ;  he 

15  never  attempted  to  make  that  better  which  was  already 
good,  nor  often  to  mend  what  he  must  have  known  to  be 
faulty.  He  wrote,  as  he  tells  us,  with  very  little  consid- 
eration. When  occasion  or  necessity  called  upon  him,  he 
poured  out  what  the  present  moment  happened  to  supply, 

20  and,  when  once  it  had  passed  the  press,  ejected  it  from 
his  mind  ;  for,  when  he  had  no  pecuniary  interest,  he  had 
no  further  solicitude. 


37 

Pope  was  not  content  to  satisfy ;  he  desired  to  excel, 
and  therefore  always  endeavored  to  do  his  best ;  he  did 
not  court  the  candor,  but  dared  the  judgment  of  his 
reader,  and,  expecting  no  indulgence  from  others,  he 
5  showed  none  to  himself.  He  examined  lines  and  words 
with  minute  and  punctilious  observation,  and  retouched 
every  part  with  indefatigable  diligence,  till  he  had  left 
nothing  to  be  forgiven. 

For   this  reason   he   kept  his  pieces  very  long  in  his 

10  hands,  while  he  considered  and  reconsidered  them.  The 
only  poems  which  can  be  supposed  to  have  been  written 
with  such  regard  to  the  times  as  might  hasten  their  pub- 
lication, were  the  two  satires  of  "  Thirty-eight: "  of  which 
Dodsley  told  me,  that  they  were  brought  to  him  by  the 

15  author,  that  they  might  be  fairly  copied.  "Every  line," 
said  he,  "  was  then  written  twice  over ;  I  gave  him  a 
clean  transcript,  which  he  sent  some  time  afterwards  to 
me  for  the  press,  with  every  line  written  twice  over  a  sec- 
ond time." 

20  His  declaration,  that  his  care  for  his  works  ceased  at 
their  publication,  was  not  strictly  true.  His  parental  at- 
tention never  abandoned  them ;  what  he  found  amiss  in 
the  first  edition,  he  silently  corrected  in  those  that  fol- 
lowed.   He  appears  to  have  revised  the  "  Hiad,"  and  freed 

25  it  from  some  of  its  imperfections ,  and  the  "  Essay  on  Crit- 
icism" received  many  improvements  after  its  first  appear- 
ance. It  will  seldom  be  found  that  he  altered  without 
adding  clearness,  elegance,  or  vigor.  Pope  had  perhaps 
the  judgment  of  Dry  den ;  but  Dry  den  certainly  wanted 

30  the  diligence  of  Pope. 

In  acquired  knowledge,  the  superiority  must  be  allowed 
to  Dryden,  whose  education  was  more  scholastic,  and  who, 
before  he  became  an  author,  had  been  allowed  more  time 
for  study,  with  better  means  of  information.     His  mind 

35  has  a  larger  range,  and  he  collects  his  images  and  illus- 
trations from  a  more  extensive  circumference  of  science. 
4 


do  HILLARD'S   SIXTH  READER. 

Dryden  knew  more  of  man  in  his  general  nature,  and 
Pope  in  his  local  manners.  The  notions  of  Dryden  were 
formed  by  comprehensive  speculation,  and  those  of  Pope 
by  minute  attention.  There  is  more  dignity  in  the 
5  knowledge  of  Dryden,  and  more  certainty  in  that  of 
Pope. 

Poetry  was  not  the  sole  praise  of  either ;  for  both  ex- 
celled likewise  in  prose;  but  Pope  did  not  borrow  his 
prose  from  his  predecessor.     The  style  of  Dryden  is  ca- 

10  pricious  and  varied ;  that  of  Pope  is  cautious  and  uniform. 
Dryden  obeys  the  motions  of  his  own  mind ;  Pope  con- 
strains his  mind  to  his  own  rules  of  composition.  Dryden 
is  sometimes  vehement  and  rapid ;  Pope  is  always  smooth, 
uniform,  and  gentle.      Dryden' s  page  is  a  natural  field, 

15  rising  into  inequalities,  and  diversified  by  the  varied  exu- 
berance of  abundant  vegetation ;  Pope's  is  a  velvet  lawn, 
shaven  by  the  scythe,  and  levelled  by  the  roller. 

Of  genius,  —  that  power  which  constitutes  a  poet, — 
that  quality,  without  which  judgment  is  cold,  and  knowl- 

20  edge  is  inert,  —  that  energy,  which  collects,  combines, 
amplifies,  and  animates,  —  the  superiority  must,  with 
some  hesitation,  be  allowed  to  Dryden.  It  is  not  to  be 
inferred,  that  of  this  poetical  vigor.  Pope  had  only  a  little, 
because  Dryden  had  more ;   for  every  other  writer  since 

25  Milton  must  give  place  to  Pope ;  and  even  of  Dryden  it 
must  be  said,  that  if  he  has  brighter  paragraphs,  he  has 
not  better  poems. 

Dryden' s  performances  were  always  hasty,  — either  ex- 
cited by  some  external  occasion,  or  extorted  by  some  do- 

30  mestic  necessity.  He  composed  without  consideration,  and 
published  without  correction.  What  his  mind  could  sup- 
ply at  call,  or  gather  in  one  excursion,  was  all  that  he 
sought,  and  all  that  he  gave.  The  dilatory  caution  of 
Pope  enabled  him  to  condense  his  sentiments,  to  multiply 

35  his  images,  and  to  accumulate  all  that  study  might  pro- 
duce, or  chance  might  supply.     If  the  flights  of  Dryden, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  39 

therefore,  are  higher,  Pope  continues  longer  on  the  wing. 
If  of  Dryden's  fire  the  blaze  is  brighter,  of  Pope's  the 
heat  is  more  regular  and  constant.  Dryden  often  sur- 
passes expectation,  and  Pope  never  falls  below  it.  Dryden 
5  is  read  with  frequent  astonishment,  and  Pope  with  perpet- 
ual delight. 

This  parallel  will,  I  hope,  when  it  is  well  considered, 
be  found  just ;  and  if  the  reader  should  suspect  me,  as  I 
suspect  myself,  of  some  partial  fondness  for  the  memory  of 
10  Dryden,  let  him  not  too  hastily  condemn  me  ;  for  medita- 
tion and  inquiry  may,  perhaps,  show  him  the  reasonable- 
ness of  my  determination. 


XII.  —  OBLIGATIONS  ®P  AMEEICA  T6  ENGLAND. 

s-V'    -  Everett.    ^*"  »  "     .',  i  ....     J,..„,^ 

^  [Edward  Everett  was  born  in  Dorchester,  Massachusetts,  April  11, 1794, 
was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1811,  and  was  settled  over  the  church  in 
Brattle  Street,  in  Boston,  as  successor  to  Mr.  Buckminster,  in  1813.  In  1815,  he 
was  appointed  professor  of  Greek  literature  in  Harvard  College,  and  immedi- 
ately proceeded  to  Europe,  with  a  view  of  making  an  ample  preparation  for 
the  duties  of  his  new  position.  He  remained  in  Europe  about  four  and  a  half 
years,  during  which  period  he  went  through  an  extensive  course  both  of 
travel  and  study.  Upon  his  return,  he  assumed  the  duties  of  his  professor- 
ship, and  also  those  of  editor  of  the  "  North  American  Review,"  and  continued 
in  the  discharge  of  both  till  his  election  to  the  House  of  Representatives,  in 
1824.  He  remained  in  Congress  till  1835,  in  which  year  he  was  chosen  gov- 
ernor of  Massachusetts.  To  this  office  ho  was  re-elected  for  three  successive 
years.  In  1841,  he  was  appointed  minister  plenipotentiary  to  the  court  of  St. 
James,  and  he  discharged  the  duties  of  that  post  till  1845.  Upon  his  return  to 
America,  he  was  chosen  President  of  Harvard  College,  and  held  that  office  till 
1849.  He  was  secretary  of  state  for  a  short  period,  at  the  close  of  Mr.  Fill> 
more's  administration,  and  in  1853  was  chosen  to  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States  by  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts,  but  resigned  his  place  the  next  year, 
on  account  of  ill  heath,  and  has  since  resided  as  a  private  citizen  in  Boston. 

The  variety  of  Mr.  Everett's  life  and  employments  is  but  a  type  of  the  ver- 
satility of  his  powers,  and  the  wide  range  of  his  cultivation.  He  is  one  of  the 
most  finished  men  of  our  time.  His  works  consist  mainly  of  occasional  dis~ 
courses  and  speeches,  and  of  contributions  to  the  "  North  American  Review," 
—  the  last  of  which  are  very  numerous,  and  deal  with  a  great  diversity  of  sub- 
jects, including  Greek  and  German  literature,  the  fine  arts,  politics,  political 
economy,  history,  and  American  literature.  His  orations  and  speeches  have 
been  published  in  two  large  octavo  volumes.    His  style  iu  rich  and  glowing. 


40  HILLAKD'S   SIXTH   READER. 

but  always  under  the  control  of  sound  judgment  and  good  taste.  His  learning 
and  scholarship  are  never  needlessly  obtruded  ;  they  are  woven  into  the  web 
of  his  discourse,  and  not  embossed  upon  its  surface.  He  writes  under  the  in- 
spiration of  a  generous  and  comprehensive  patriotism,  and  his  speeches  are 
eminently  suited  to  create  and  sustain  a  just  and  high-toned  national  senti- 
ment. Whatever  he  does,  is  done  well  5  and  his  brilliant  natural  powers  have 
through  life  been  trained  and  aided  by  those  habits  of  vigorous  industry 
which  are  falsely  supposed  by  many  to  be  found  only  in  connection  with  dul- 
ness  and  mediocrity. 

The  following  extract  is  from  an  oration  delivered  at  Plymouth,  December 
22, 1824.J 

"What  citizen  of  our  republic  does  not  feel,  what  reflect- 
ing American  does  not  acknowledge,  the  incalculable  ad- 
vantages derived  to  this  land  out  of  the  deep  fountains 
of  civil,  intellectual,  and  moral  truth,  from  which  we  have 
5  drawn  in  England  ?  What  American  does  not  feel  proud 
that  his  fathers  were  the  countrymen  of  Bacon,  of  Newton, 
and  of  Locke?  Who  does  not  know  that,  while  every 
pulse  of  civil  liberty  in  the  heart  of  the  British  empire 
beat  warm  and  full  in  the  bosom  of  our  ancestors,  the 

10  sobriety,  the  firmness,  and  the  dignity,  with  which  the 
cause  of  free  principles  struggled  into  existence  here,  con- 
stantly found  encouragement  and  countenance  from  the 
friends  of  liberty  there  ? 

Who  does  not  remember  that,  when  the  pilgrims  went 

15  over  the  sea,  the  prayers  of  the  faithful  British  confessors, 
in  all  the  quarters  of  their  dispersion,  went  over  with  them, 
while  their  aching  eyes  were  strained  till  the  stars  of  hope 
should  go  up  in  the  western  skies  ?  And  who  will  ever 
forget  that,  in  that  eventful  struggle  which  severed  these . 

20  youthful  republics  from  the  British  crown,  there  was  not 
heard,  throughout  our  continent  in  arms,  a  voice  which 
spoke  louder  for  the  rights  of  America,  than  that  of  Burke 
or  of  Chatham  within  the  walls  of  the  British  parliament, 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  British  throne  ? 

25  No :  for  myself,  I  can  truly  say  that,  after  my  native 
land,  I  feel  a  tenderness  and  a  reverence  for  that  of  my 
fathers.  The  pride  I  take  in  my  own  country  makes  me 
respect  that  from  which  we  are  sprung.     In  touching  the 


v^ 


HILLARD^  SIXTH  READER.  41 

^soil  of  England,  I  seem  to  return,  like  a  descendant,  to 

the  old  family  seat ;  to  come  back  to  the  abode  of  an 

aged  and  venerable  parent.      I  acknowledge  this  great 

consanguinity  of  nations.     The  sound  of  my  native  lan- 

5  guage,  beyond  the  sea,  is  as  music  to  my  ear,  beyond  the 

I     richest  strains  of  Tuscan  softnesa  or  Castilian  majesty. 

\^  \^      I  am  not  yet  in  a  land  of  strangers,  while  surrounded 

by  the  manners,  the  habits,   and  the  institutions,  under 

which  I  have  been  brought  up.     I  wander,   delighted, 

10  through  a  thousand  scenes  which  the  historians  and  the 
poets  have  made  familiar  to  us,  of  which  the  names  are 
interwoven  with  our  earliest  associations.  I  tread  with 
reverence  the  spots  where  I  can  retrace  the  footsteps  of 
our  suffering  fathers ;  —  the  pleasant  land  of  their  birth 

16  has  a  claim  on  my  heart.  It  seems  to  me  a  classic,  yea, 
a  holy  land,  —  rich  in  the  memory  of  the. great  and  good, 
the  champions  and  the  martyrs  of  liberty,  the  exiled  her- 
alds of  truth ;  and  richer,  as  the  parent  of  this  land  of 
promise  in  the  west. 

20  I  am  not  —  I  need  not  say  I  am  not  —  the  panegyrist 
of  England.  I  am  not  dazzled  by  her  riches,  nor  awed  by 
her  power.  The  sceptre,  the  mitre,  and  the  coronet,  — 
stars,  garters,  and  blue  ribbons,  —  seem  to  me  poor 
things  for  great  men  to  contend  for.     Nor  is  my  admira- 

25  tion  awakened  by  her  armies  mustered  for  the  battles  of 
Europe,  her  navies  overshadowing  the  ocean,  nor  her 
empire,  grasping  the  farthest  east.  It  is  these,  and  the 
price  of  guilt  and  blood  by  which  they  are  too  often  main- 
tained, which  are  the  cause  why  no  friend  of  liberty  can 

30  salute  her  with  undivided  affections. 

But  it  is  the  cradle  and  the  refuge  of  free  principles, 
though  often  persecuted ;  the  school  of  religious  liberty, 
the  more  precious  for  the  struggles  through  which  it  has 
passed ;  the  tombs  of  those  who  have  reflected  honor  on 

35  all  who  speak  the  English  tongue ;  it  is  the  birthplace  of 
our  fathers,  the  home  of  the  pilgrim.     It  is  these  which  I 


4:2  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

love  and  venerate  in  England.  I  should  feel  ashamed  of 
an  enthusiasm  for  Italy  and  Greece,  did  I  not  also  feel  it 
for  a  land  like  this.  In  an  American,  it  would  seem  to 
me  degenerate  and  ungrateful  to  hang  with  passion  upon 
5  the  traces  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  follow  without  emo- 
tion the  nearer  and  plainer  footsteps  of  Shakspeare  and 
Milton.  I  should  think  him  cold  in  his  love  for  his  native 
land,  who  felt  no  melting  in  his  heart  for  that  other  native 
country  which  holds  the  ashes  of  his  forefathers. 


XIIL  — "GIVE     ME     THKEE     GKAINS     dF     C©KN, 
MOTHER" 

Miss  Edwards. 

[This  powerful  and  pathetic  piece  was  suggested  by  one  of  the  many  painful 
incidents  of  the  memorable  Irish  famine  of  1846.  The  title  was  the  last  request 
of  an  Irish  lad  to  his  mother,  as  he  was  dying  of  starvation.  She  found  three 
grains  in  a  corner  of  his  ragged  jacket,  and  gave  them  to  him.  It  was  all  she 
had.    The  whole  family  were  perishing  from  famine.] 

1  Give  me  three  grains  of  corn,  mother, 

Only  three  grains  of  corn  ; 
It  will  keep  the  little  life  I  have, 

Till  the  coming  of  the  mom. 
I  am  dying  of  hunger  and  cold,  mother, 

Dying  of  hunger  and  cold. 
And  half  the  agony  of  such  a  death 

My  lips  have  never  told. 

2  It  has  gnawed  like  a  wolf,  at  my  heart,  mother, 

A  wolf  that  is  fierce  for  blood,  — 
All  the  livelong  day,  and  the  night  beside. 

Gnawing  for  lack  of  food. 
I  dreamed  of  bread  in  my  sleep,  mother, 

And  the  sight  was  heaven  to  see,  — 
I  awoke  with  an  eager,  famishing  lip, 

But  you  had  no  bread  for  me. 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  43 


How  could  I  look  to  you,  mother, 

How  could  I  look  to  you, 
For  bread  to  give  to  your  starving  boy, 

When  you  were  starving  too  ? 
For  I  read  the  famine  in  your  cheek, 

And  in  your  eye  so  wild, 
And  I  felt  it  in  your  bony  hand. 

As  you  laid  it  on  your  child. 

The  queen  has  lands  and  gold,  mother. 

The  queen  has  lands  and  gold, 
"While  you  are  forced  to  your  empty  breast 

A  skeleton  babe  to  hold,  — 
A  babe  that  is  dying  of  want,  mother. 

As  I  am  dying  now, 
With  a  ghastly  look  in  its  sunken  eye, 

And  famine  upon  its  brow. 

What  has  poor  Ireland  done,  mother, 

What  has  poor  Ireland  done, 
That  the  world  looks  on,  and  sees  us  starve. 

Perishing,  one  by  one  ? 
Do  the  men  of  England  care  not,  mother, 

The  great  men  and  the  high. 
For  the  suffering  sons  of  Erin's  isle. 

Whether  they  live  or  die  ? 


There  is  many  a  brave  heart  here,  mother, 

Dying  of  want  and  cold, 
While  only  across  the  channel,  mother. 

Are  many  that  roll  in  gold  ; 
There  are  rich  and  proud  men  there,  mother. 

With  wondrous  wealth  to  view. 
And  the  bread  they  fling  to  their  dogs  to-night. 

Would  give  life  to  me  and  you. 


44  hillard's  sixth  eeader. 

7    Come  nearer  to  my  side,  mother, 

Come  nearer  to  my  side, 
And  hold  me  fondly,  as  you  held 

My  father  when  he  died ; 
Quick,  for  I  cannot  see  you,  mother, 

My  breath  is  almost  gone ; 
Mother !  dear  mother !  ere  I  die, 

Give  me  three  grains  of  corn. 


XIV.  — THE  BLIND  PKEACHEK. 

WlUT. 

[Wtlltam  Wirt  waa  born  in  Bladensburg,  Maryland,  November  8,  1772, 
and  died  February  18, 1834.  He  was  early  admitted  to  the  bar  and  became  one 
of  the  most  eminent  lawyers  in  the  United  States,  combining  earnest  and  per- 
Buasive  eloquence  as  an  advocate  with  thorough  professional  learning.  He 
was  attorney-general  of  the  United  States  in  1817,  which  position  he  held  till 
1829,  and  never  were  the  duties  of  this  office  more  ably  discharged  than  by 
him.  He  had  a  love  of  literjuure,  and  frequently  wrote  for  the  press  in  his 
youth  and  early  manhood.  His  style  is  rich  and  flowing,  but  marked  by  an 
excess  of  ornament,  which  was  in  unison  Avith  the  taste  of  the  times.  His 
'  Letters  of  a  British  Spy  "  first  appeared  in  1803,  in  the  "  Richmond  Argus." 
This  has  proved  a  popular  book,  having  passed  through  several  editions.  He 
was  the  principal  author  of  the  "  Old  Bachelor,"  a  series  of  papers,  which 
originally  appeared  in  a  Richmond  newspaper.  In  1817  he  published  a  mcnabir 
of  Patrick  Henry,  a  spirited  and  interesting  biography,  though  somewhat  ex- 
aggerated in  tone.  In  1827  he  pronounced  an  eulogy  on  Adams  and  Jefferson. 
Mr.  Wirt  was  a  man  of  warm  affections,  amiable  character,  and  engaging 
manners.  A  life  of  him,  by  J.  P.  Kennedy,  In  two  volumes  octavo,  was  pub- 
lished in  1819. 

The  following  passage  is  from  the  "  Letters  of  a  British  Spy."] 

EiCHMOND,  October  10,  1803. 

I  HAVE  been,  my  dear  S ,  on  an  excursion  through 

the  counties  which  lie  along  the  eastern  side  of  the  Blue 
Kidge.  A  general  description  of  that  country  and  its  in- 
habitants may  form  the  subject  of  a  future  letter.  For 
5  the  present,  I  must  entertain  you  with  an  account  of  a  most 
singular  and  interesting  adventure,  which  I  met  with  in 
the  course  of  the  tour. 

It  was  one  Sunday,  as  I  travelled  through  the  county  of 
Orange,  that  my  eye  was  caught  by  a  cluster  of  horses  tied 


hillard's  sixth  keader.  45 

■■  near  a  ruinous,  old  wooden  house,  in  tlie  forest,  not  far 
from  the  roadside.     Having  frequently  seen  such  objects 
before,  in  travelling  through  these  States,  I  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  understanding  that  this  was  a  place  of  religious 
5  worship. 

Devotion  alone  should  have  stopped  me,  to  join  in  the 
duties  of  the  congregation ;  but  I  must  confess,  that  curi- 
osity to  hear  the  preacher  of  such  a  wilderness,  was  not  the 
least  of  my  motives.     On  entering,  I  was  struck  with  his 

10  preternatural  appearance.  He  was  a  tall  and  very  spare 
old  man ;  his  head,  which  was  covered  with  a  white  linen 
cap,  his  shrivelled  hands,  and  his  voice,  were  all  shaking 
under  the  influeitce  of  a  palsy ;  and  a  few  moments  ascer- 
tained to  me  that  he  was  perfectly  blind. 

1 5  The  first  emotions,  which  touched  my  breast,  were  those 
of  mingled  pity  and  veneration.  But  how  soon  were  all 
my  feelings  changed !  The  lips  of  Plato  were  never  more 
worthy  of  a  prognostic  swarm  of  bees  than  were  the  lips 
of  this  holy  man  !     It  was  a  day  of  the  administration  of 

20  the  sacrament;  and  his  subject,  of  course,  was  the  passion 
of  our  Saviour.  I  had  heard  the  subject  handled  a  thou- 
sand times ;  I  had  thought  it  exhausted  long  ago.  Little 
did  I  suppose,  that  in  the  wild  woods  of  America,  I'was  to 
meet  with  a  man  whose  eloquence  would  give  to  this  topic 

25  a  new  and  more  sublime  pathos  than  I  had  ever  before 
witnessed. 

As  he  descended  from  the  pulpit  to  distribute  the  mys- 
tic symbols,  there  was  a  peculiar,  a  more  than  human 
solemnity  in  his  air  and  manner,  which  made  my  blood  run 

30  cold,  and  my  whole  frame  shiver. 

He  then  drew  a  picture  of  the  sufiferings  of  our  Saviour ; 
his  trial  before  Pilate ;  his  ascent  up  Calvary ;  his  cruci- 
fixion ;  and  his  death.  I  knew  the  whole  history ;  but 
never  until  then  had  I  heard  the  circumstances  so  selected, 

35  so  arranged,  so  colored !  It  was  all  new ;  and  I  seemed 
to  have  heard  it  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.     His  enun- 


46  niLLARD'S   SIXTH   READER. 

ciation  was  so  deliberate  that  his  voice  trembled  on  every 
syllable;  and  every  heart  in  the  assembly  trembled  in 
unison.  His  peculiar  phrases  had  that  force  of  descrip- 
tion, that  the  original  scene  appeared  te  be,  at  that  moment, 
6  acting  before  our  eyes.  We  saw  the  very  faces  of  the 
Jews :  the  staring,  frightful  distortions  of  malice  and  rage. 
We  saw  the  buffet :  my  soul  kindled  with  a  flame  of  indig- 
nation ;  and  my  hands  were  involuntarily  and  convulsively 
clinched.  s 

10  But  when  he  came  to  touch  on  the  patience,  the  forgiv- 
ing meekness  of  our  Saviour ;  when  he  drew,  to  the  life, 
his  blessed  eyes  streaming  in  tears  to  heaven ;  his  voice 
breathing  to  God,  a  soft  and  gentle  prayer  of  pardon  on 
his  enemies,  "  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not 

15  what  they  do"  —  the  voice  of  the  preacher,  which  had 
all  along  faltered,  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  until,  his  ut- 
terance being  entirely  obstructed  by  the  force  of  his  feel- 
ings, he  raised  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  and  burst 
inte  a  loud  and  irrepressible  flood  of  grief.    The  effect  was 

20  inconceivable.  The  whole  house  resounded  with  the  min- 
gled groans  and  sobs  and  shrieks  of  the  congregation. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  tumult  had  subsided  so  far 
as  to  permit  him  to  proceed.  Indeed,  judging  by  the 
usual  but  fallacious  standard  of  my  own  weakness,  I  began 

25  to  be  very  uneasy  for  the  situation  of  the  preacher.  For 
I  could  not  conceive  how  he  would  be  able  to  let  his  audi- 
ence down  from  the  height  to  which  he  had  wound  them, 
without  impairing  the  solemnity  and  dignity  of  his  sub- 
ject, or  perhaps  shocking  them  by  the  abruptness  of  the 

30  fall.  But  —  no;  the  descent  was  as  beautiful  and  sub- 
lime as  the  elevation  had  been  rapid  and  enthusiastic. 

The  first  sentence,  with  which  he  broke  the  awful  silence, 
was  a  quotation  from  Eousseau:"=  "  Socrates  f  died  like  a 
philosopher,  but  Jesus  Christ  like  a  God.'/ 

*  Rousseau  (pronounced  R6us-so)  was  abrilliant  and  eloquent  French  writer, 
who  flourished  during  the  middle  of  the  last  century. 

t  Socrates  was  a  celebrated  philosopher  of  Athens,  in  Greece,  who  was  con- 
demned  to  death  upon  false  charges  of  irreligion  and  impiety  b.  c.  400. 


HILLARD'S   SIXTH   READER.  47 

I  despair  of  giving  you  any  idea  of  the  effect  produced 
Tby  this  short  sentence,  unless  you  could  perfectly  conceive 
the  whole  manner  of  the  man,  as  well  as  the  peculiar  crisis 
in  the  discourse.  Never  before,  did  I  completely  under- 
5  stand  what  Demosthenes  meant  by  laying  such  stress  on 
delivery.  You  are  to  bring  before  you  the  venerable  figure 
of  the  preacher,  his  blindness  constantly  recalling  to  your 
recollection  old  Homer,  Ossian,  and  Milton ;  and,  associ- 
ating with  his  performance  the  melancholy  grandeur  of 

10  their  genius,  you  are  to  imagine  that  you  hear  his  slow, 
solemn,  well-accented  enunciation,  and  his  voice  of  affect- 
ing, trembling  melody ;  you  are  to  remember  the  pitch  of 
passion  and  enthusiasm  to  which  the  congregation  were 
raised ;  and  then,  the  few  minutes  of  portentous,  death- 

15  like  silence  which  reigned  throughout  the  house :  the 
preacher,  removing  his  white  handkerchief  from  his  aged 
face,  (even  yet  wet  from  the  recent  torrent  of  his  tears,) 
and  slowly. stretching  forth  the  palsied  hand  which  holds 
it,  begins  the  sentence,  "  Socrates  died  like  a  philosopher" 

20  — then  pausing,  raising  his  other  hand,  pressing  them 
both,  clasped  together,  with  warmth  and  energy  to  his 
breast,  lifting  his  ''sightless  balls"  to  heaven,  and  pour- 
ing his  whole  soul  into  his  tremulous  voice  —  "  but  Jesus 
Christ  —  like  a  Grod!"     If  he  had  been  indeed  and  in 

25  truth  an  angel  of  light,  the  effect  could  scarcely  have  been 
more  divine. 


XV.  — EXCUSES  FQK  A  NEGLECT  OE  EELIGION. 

BUCKMINSTEE. 

[Joseph  Stevens  Buckminster  was  born  May  26, 1784,  at  Portsmouth, 
New  Hampshire ;  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1800,  and  was  ordained 
as  pastor  of  the  church  in  Brattle  Street  in  Boston,  January  30, 1805 ;  and  died 
June  9,  1812.  Few  men  have  ever  brought  higher  qualifications  to  tlie  sacred 
office  which  he  held.  His  religious  faith  was  deep  and  fervid,  and  his  life  and 
conversation,  from  his  childhood  upward,  were  of  spotless  purity.  His  mind 
was  rich,  vigorous,  sound,  and  discriminating ;  and  his  attainments,  both  iu 
his  own  profession  and  in  general  literature,  were  extensive  and  accurate. 


48  hillard's  sixth  readee. 


'^w^^^e 


style  of  his  sermon  is  graceful,  finished,  and  yet  simple — easily  rising 
J  '-^into  eloquence,  and  adapting  itself  to  the  highest  tone  of  discussion,  and  at 
Av/  the  same  time  presenting  practical  truths  with  the  utmost  plainness  and  dircct- 
TsJ    ness.    It  is  hardly  possible  to  overstate  the  effect  he  produced  as  a  preacher, 
for  his  admirable  discourses  were  commended  by  rare  personal  advantages 
Lasaspeaker.    His  countenance  was  beautiful  and  expressive,  his  voice  of 
j^gic)  sweetness,  and  liis  manner  dignified,  persuasive,  and  natural.     Few 
mennave  ever  accomplished  more  in  a  life  of  tucnity -eight  years,  whether  we 
look  at  the  growth  of  his  own  powers  or  his  moral  and  spiritual  influence 
over  others.  He  was  social  in  his  tastes,  and  was  regarded  by  his  friends  with 
a  peculiar  mixture  of  admiration,  reverence,  and  love.    \) 

Two  volumes  of  Mr.  Buckminster's  sermons  have  been  published,  with  an 
introductory  memoir  by  the  Rev.  Samuel  Cooper  Thacher ;  and  a  more  ex- 
tended biography,  by  his  sister,  Mrs.  Eliza  Buckminster  Lee,  appeared  in  1849, 
from  the  press  of  Messrs.  Crosby  &  Nichols,  of  Boston.] 

First,  it  is  often  said  that  time  is  wanted  for  the  duties 
of  religion.  The  calls  of  business,  the  press  of  occupa- 
tion, the  cares  of  life,  will  not  suffer  me,  says  one,  to  give 
that  time  to  the  duties  of  piety,  which  otherwise  I  would 
5  gladly  bestow.  Say  you  this  without  a  blush?  You 
have  no  time,  then,  for  the  especial  service  of  that  great 
Being,  whose  goodness  alone  has  drawn  out  to  its  present 
length  your  cobweb  thread  of  life ;  whose  care  alone  has 
continued  you  in  possession  of  that  unseen  property  which 

10  you  call  your  time.  You  have  no  time,  then,  to  devote  to 
that  great  Being  on  whose  existence  the  existence  of  the 
universe  depends ;  a  being  so  great  that  if  his  attention 
could  for  an  instant  be  diverted,  you  fall  never  again  to 
rise ;  if  his  promise  should  fail,  your  hopes,  your  expecta- 

15  tions  vanish  into  air;  if  his  power  should  be  weakened, 
man,  angel,  nature  perishes. 

But  for  what  else  can-  you  find  no  leisure  ?  Do  you 
find  none  for  amusement?  Or  is  amusement  itself  your 
occupation  ?     Perhaps  pleasure  is  the  pressing  business  of 

20  your  life ;  perhaps  pleasure  stands  waiting  to  catch  your 
precious  moments  as  they  pass.  Do  you  find  none  for  the 
pursuit  of  curious  and  secular  knowledge  ?  If  you  find 
none,  then,  for  religion,  it  is  perhaps  because  you  wish  to 
find  none ;  it  would  be,  you  think,  a  tasteless  occupation, 
an  insipid  entertainment. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  49 

But  this  excuse  is  founded  on  a  most  erroneous  concep- 
tion of  the  nature  of  religion.  It  is  supposed  to  be  some- 
thing, which  interrupts  business,  which  wastes  time,  and 
interferes  with  all  the  pleasant  and  profitable  pursuits  of 
5  life.  It  is  supposed  to  be  something  which  must  be  prac- 
tised apart  from  everything  else,  a  distinct  profession,  a 
peculiar  occupation.  The  means  of  religion — meditation, 
reading,  and  prayer  —  will,  and  ought,  indeed)  to  occupy 
distinct  portions  of  our  time ;  but  religion  itself  demands 

10  not  distinct  hours.  Religion  will  attend  you  not  as  a 
troublesome,  but  as  a  pleasant  and  useful  companion  in 
every  proper  place,  and  every  temperate  occupation  of  life. 
It  will  follow  you  to  the  warehouse  or  to  the  office ;  it  will 
retreat  with  you  to  the  country,  it  will  dwell  with  you  in 

15  town;  it  will  cross  the  seas,  or  travel  over  mountains,  or 
remain  with  you  at  home.  Without  your  consent,  it  will 
not  desert  you  in  prosperity,  or  forget  you  in  adversity. 
It  will  grow  up  with  you  in  youth,  and  grow  old  with  you 
in  age ;  it  will  attend  you,  with  peculiar  pleasure,  to  the 

20  hovels  of  the  poor,  or  the  chamber  of  the  sick ;  it  will  retire 
with  you  to  your  closet,  and  watch  by  your  bed,  or  walk 
with  you  in  gladsome  union  to  the  house  of  God ;  it  will 
follow  you  beyond  the  confines  of  the  world,  and  dwell 
with  you  in  heaven  forever,  as  its  native  residence. 

25  It  is  said,  religion  is  dull,  unsocial,  uncharitable,  enthu- 
siastic, a  damper  of  human  joy,  a  morose  intruder  upon 
human  pleasure.  If  this  were  true,  nothing  could  be 
more  incongruous  than  the  parable  which  represents  it  as 
an  entertainment.     But  if  this  be  the  character  of  relig- 

30  ion,  it  is  surely  the  very  reverse  of  what  we  should  sup- 
pose it  to  be,  and  the  reverse,  indeed,  of  what  it  ought  to 
be.  Perhaps,  in  your  distorted  vision,  you  have  mistaken 
sobriety  for  dulness,  equanimity  for  moroseness,  disincli- 
nation to  bad  company  for  aversion  to  society,  abhorrence 

35  of  vice  for  uncharitableness,  and  piety  for  enthusiasm. 

No  doubt,  at  the  table  of  boisterous  intemperance,  relig- 
5 


50  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

ion,  if  she  were  admitted  as  a  guest,  would  wear  a  very 
dull  countenance.  In  a  revel  of  debauchery,  and  amidst 
the  brisk  interchange  of  profanity  and  folly,  religion 
might  appear  indeed  a  dumb,  unsocial  intruder,  ignorant 
5  of  the  rhetoric  of  oaths,  and  the  ornaments  of  obscenity. 
These  are  scenes,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  of  what  is 
falsely  called  pleasure,  in  which  religion,  if  embodied  and 
introduced,  would  be  as  unwelcome  a  guest  as  the  em- 
blematic coffin  which  the  Egyptians  used  to  introduce  in 

10  the  midst  of  their  entertainments.  From  such  instances, 
however,  to  accuse  religion  of  being  unfriendly  to  the  en- 
joyment of  life,  is  as  absurd  as  to  interpret  unfavorably 
the  silence  of  a  foreigner,  who  understands  not  a  word  of 
our  language. 

15  But  as  long  as  intemperance  is  not  pleasure,  as  long  as 
profaneness,  impurity,  or  scandal  is  not  wit,  as  long  as 
excess  is  not  the  perfection  of  mirth,  as  long  as  selfishness 
is  not  the  surest  enjoyment,  and  as  long  as  gratitude, 
love,  reverence,  and  resignation  are  not  superstitious  affec- 

20  tions,  so  long  religion  lays  not  an  icy  hand  on  the  true 
joys  of  life.  Without  her,  all  other  pleasures  become 
tasteless,  and  at  last  painful.  To  explain  to  you,  indeed, 
how  much  she  exalts,  purifies,  and  prolongs  the  pleasures 
of  sense  and  imagination,  and  what  peculiar  sources  of 

25  consolation,  cheerfulness,  and  contentment  she  opens  to 
herself,  would  lead  us  at  present  into  too  wide  a  range. 

Excuses  for  a  neglect  of  religion  are  suggested  by  dif- 
ferent seasons  of  life.  Youth,  in  the  fulness  of  its  spirit, 
defers  it  to  the  sobriety  of  manhood ;  manhood,  encum- 

30  bered  with  cares,  defers  it  to  the  leisure  of  old  age ;  old 
age,  weak  and  hesitating,  is  unable  to  enter  on  an  untried 
mode  of  life.  The  excuses  of  youth  are  those  which  are 
most  frequently  offered,  and  most  easily  admitted.  The 
restrictions  of  religion,  though  proper  enough  for  maturer 

35  age,  are  too  severe,  it  is  said,  for  this  frolicsome  and  glad- 
some period.     Its  consolations,   too,   they  do  not  want. 


51 


Leave  them  to  prop  the  feeble  limbs  of  old  age,  or  to 
cheer  the  sinking  spirits  of  adversity.  False  and  perni- 
cious maxim  !  As  if,  at  the  end  of  a  stated  number  of 
years,  a  man  could  become  religious  in  a  moment !     As  if 

6  the  husbandman,  at  the  end  of  summer,  could  call  up  a 
harvest  from  the  soil  which  he  had  never  tilled !  As  if 
manhood,  too,  would  have  no  excuses  !  And  what  are 
they  ?  That  he  has  grown  too  old  to  amend.  That  his 
parents  took  no  pains  with  his  religious  education,  and 

10  therefore  his  ignorance  is  not  his  own  fault.  That  he 
must  be  making  provision  for  old  age ;  and  the  pressure 
of  cares  will  allow  him  no  time  to  attend  to  the  evidences, 
or  learn  the  rules  of  religion.  Thus,  life  is  spent  in 
framing  apologies,  in  making  and  breaking  resolutions, 

15  and  protracting  amendment,  till  death  places  his  cold 
hand  on  the  mouth  open  to  make  its  last  excuse,  and  one 
more  is  added  to  the  crowded  congregation  of  the  dead. 


XYL  — SAME   SUBJECT,    CONCLUDED. 

The  excuses  which  we  have  already  considered,  are 
trifling,  however,  compared  with  the  following. 

It  is  said,  "  It  is  by  no  means  certain,  that  there  is  a 
future  state  of  retribution  beyond  the  limits  of  the  world. 
5  Who  has  ever  seen  it  ?  It  is  not  certain,  that  the  religion, 
which  you  urge  us  to  embrace,  comes  from  Grod.  Many 
objections  may  be  made  to  its  evidences."  Most  of  the 
irreligion,  which  prevails  among  the  ijiore  informed  classes 
of  society,  results  from  a  lurking  scepticism,  which  infests 
10  their  thoughts,  and,  in  relation  to  religion,  leads  them  to 
act  in  direct  opposition  to  all  the  maxims  which  usually 
govern  the  conduct  of  men. 

It  is  indeed  true,  that  the  existence  of  a  future  world 
is  not  to  us  as  certain  as  the  existence  of  the  present; 


52  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

neither  can  we  ever  have  that  intuitive  assurance  of  the 
"being  of  a  God,  that  we  necessarily  possess  of  our  own  ex- 
istence ;  neither  can  the  facts  of  the  Gospel  history,  which 
happened  two  thousand  years  ago.  be  impressed  on  our 
5  belief  with  that  undoubting  conviction,  which  we  have  of 
the  reality  of  scenes  which  are  passing  immediately  before 
our  eyes. 

But  the  question  is  not,  whether  the  Gospel  history  can 
be   demonstrated.      Few  subjects   which  occupy   human 

10  contemplation  admit  strict  and  mathematical  proof.  The 
whole  life  of  man  is  but  a  perpetual  comparison  of  evi- 
dence, and  balancing  of  probabilities.  And  upon  the 
supposition  that  religious  truths  are  only  probable,  the 
excuse  we  have  mentioned  will  not  relieve  irreligion  from 

15  the  charge  of  presumptuous  and  consummate  folly. 

But  it  is  said,  many  objections  have  been  made  to  the 
evidences  of  revelation ;  and  many  of  its  difficulties  re- 
main yet  unexplained.  It  is  true,  that  objections  have 
been  often  made,  and  often  answered,  and  not  only  an- 

20  swered,  but  refuted.'^  But  some  difficulties,  it  is  said,  yet 
remain.  It  is  true,  they  do  remain ;  and  the  excuse  shall 
be  admitted,  when  any  other  subject  of  equal  importance 
shall  be  produced,  in  which  difficulties  do  not  remain. 
The  most  plausible  objections,  which  have  been  made  to 

25  any  truth  within  the  circle  of  human  knowledge,  are  those 
which  have  been  offered  against  the  existence  of  a  mate-  ^ 

-  '.rial  world ;  but  did  this  ever  check  an  operation  in  me- 
chanics, or  excuse  from  his  daily  task  a  single  laborer  ? 
A  man  of  ingenuity  might  offer  a  thousand  objections 

30  against  the  probability  of  your  living  till  the  morrow; 
but  would  this  rob  you  of  a  moment's  rest,  or  frustrate  a 
single  plan,  which  you  had  meditated  for  the  approaching  ** 
day  ?     If  we  subtract  from  the  difficulties,  which  attend 
revelation,  those  which  have  been  creeled  by  the  injudi- 

35  cious  zeal  of  some  of  its  friends  in  attempting  to  prove  too 
much,  we  shall  find,  that,  in  the  vast  storehouse  of  facts 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  53 

whicli  history  presents,  for  none  can  there  be  produced  a 
greater  mass  of  evidence  than  for  the  birth,  the  death, 
and  resurrection  of  Jesus  Christ  —  and  upon  the  suppo- 
sition of  their  truth,  irreligion  is  nothing  better  than 
5  distraction. 

Another  excuse,  however,  is  offered,  which  perhaps  has 
greater  secret  influence  in  quieting  the  conscience  than 
any  other.  We  are  desired  to  look  at  the  list  of  great 
names,  who  have  been  adversaries  of  Christianity.     Can 

10  that  evidence,  it  is  asked,  be  satisfactory,  which  failed  to 
convince  such  minds  as  these  ?  —  If  the  probable  truth  of 
revelation  is  to  be  ascertained  in  this  manner,  the  dispute 
will  soon  be  at  an  end ;  for  it  would  be  no  difficult  task  to 
produce,  from  among  the  friends  of  revelation,  a  greater 

15  number  of  greater  names,  within  the  last  hundred  years, 
than  all  the  hosts  of  infidelity  can  furnish  in  eighteen 
centnries  since  the  birth  of  Christ. 

But  I  believe  these  instances  are  not  alleged  to  disprove 
the  truth,  but  only  to  weaken  the  importance  of  Chris- 

20  tianity.  They  are  alleged  only  to  excuse  an  inattention  to 
religion,  and  to  show  that  it  is  not  very  dangerous  to  err 
with  such  great  names  on  our  side.  Truths,  it  is  said, 
which  such  understandings  disbelieved,  surely  cannot  be 
of  infinite  importance.     Nothing  would  tend  more  to  re- 

25  move  such  apologies,  than  a  fair,  impartial,  and  full  ac- 
count of  the  education,  the  characters,  the  intellectual 
processes,  and  the  dying  moments  .of  such  men.  Then  it 
would  be  seen,  that  their  tvir^ue^  were  the  result  of  the 
very  principles  they  had  assailed,  but  from  whose  influ- 

30  ence  they  were  unable  wholly  to  escape.     Then  it  would 

be  seen,  that  they  had  gained  by  their  scepticism  no  new 

pleasures,  no  tranquillity  of  mind,  no  peace  of  conscience 

during  life,  and  no  consolation  in  the  hour  of  death. 

Such  are  the  excuses  which  irreligion  offers.    Could  you 

35  have  believed,  that  they  were  so  empty,  so  unworthy,  so 
hollow,  so  absurd  ?     And  shall  such  excuses  be  offered  to 
5* 


54  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

the  God  of  heaven  and  earth  ?  By  such  apologies  shall 
man  insult  his  Creator  ?  Shall  he  hope  to  flatter  the  ear 
of  Onu4!potenbe,  and  beguile  the  observation  of  an  omnis- 
cient Spirit  ?  Think  you  that  such  excuses  will  gain  new 
5  importance  in  their  ascent  to  the  throne  of  the  Majesty  on 
high  ?  Will  you  trust  the  interests  of  eternity  in  the  hands 
of  these  superficial  advocates  ? 

You  have  pleaded  your  incessant  occupation.  Exhibit 
then  the  result  of  your  employment.     Have  you  nothing 

10  to  produce  but  these  bags  of  gold,  these  palaces,  and  farms, 
these  bundles  of  cares,  and  heaps  of  vexations  ?  Is  the 
eye  of  Heaven  to  be  dazzled  by  an  exhibition  of  property, 
an  ostentatious  show  of  treasures  ?  You  surely  produce 
not  all  these  wasted  hours,  to  prove  that  you  had  no  time 

15  for  religion.  It  is  an  insult  to  the  Majesty  of  Heaven. 
Again,  you  have  pleaded  your  youth,  and  you  have 
pleaded  your  age.  Which  of  these  do  you  choose  to  main- 
tain at  the  bar  of  Heaven  ?  Such  trifling  would  not  be 
admitted  in  the  intercourse  of  men,  and  do  you  think  it 

20  will  avail  more  with  Almighty  God  ? 

It  must,  however,  be  acknowledged  that  the  case  of  the 
irreligious  is  not  desperate,  while  excuses  are  thought 
proper  and  necessary.  There  is  some  glimmering  of  hope, 
that  the  man  who  apologizes  is  willing  to  amend.     God 

25  preserve  us  from  that  obduracy  of  wickedness,  which  dis- 
dains to  palliate  a  crime  ;  from  that    hardihood  of  unbe- 
"*  lief,  which  will  not  give  even  a  weak  reason,  and  which 
derides  the  offer  of  an  excuse.     But  the  season  of  apolo- 
gies is  passing  away.     All  our  eloquent  defences  of  our- 

30  selves  must  soon  cease.  Death  stiffens  the  smooth  tongue 
of  flattery,  and  blots  out,  with  one  stroke,  all  the  ingenious 
excuses,  which  we  have  spent  our  lives  in  framing. 

At  the  marriage-supper,  the  places  of  those  who  refused 
to  come    were  soon  filled  by  a  multitude  of  delighted 

35  guests.  The  God  of  Heaven  needs  not  our  presence  to 
adorn  his  table,  for  whether  we  accept,  or  whether  we 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  55 

reject  his  gracious  invitation,  whether  those  who  were  "bid- 
den taste  or  not  of  his  supper,  his  house  shall  be  filled. 
Though  many  are  called  and  few  chosen,  yet  Christ  has 
not  died  in  vain,  religion  is  not  without  its  witnesses,  or 
heaven  without  its  inhabitants.  Let  us  then  remember 
that  one  thing  is  needful,  and  that  there  is  a  better  part 
than  all  the  pleasures  and  selfish  pursuits  of  this  world, 
a  part  which  we  are  encouraged  to  secure,  and  which  can 
never  be  taken  away. 


XVII.  — THE   FALL   OF  POLAND. 

Campbell. 

[The  following'  extract  is  from  the  "  Pleasures  of  Hope."  The  events 
which  it  commemorates  took  place  in  1794.  Warsaw  was  captured  by  the  Kus- 
sians  in  November  of  that  year.  Kosciusko  did  not  literally  "  fall,"  that  is,  die, 
at  that  time.  He  was  severely  wounded  and  taken  prisoner  in  a  battle  shortly 
before  the  capture  of  Warsaw,  but  he  lived  till  1817.  "  Sarmatia  "  is  used  poet- 
ically for  Poland,  being  the  name  by  which  the  Romans  designated  that  por- 
tion of  Europe.  "Prague"  is  Praga,  a  suburb  of  Warsaw,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Vistula,  and  joined  to  the  main  city  by  a  bridge  of  boats.] 

0  !  SACRED  Truth !  thy  triumph  ceased  a  while, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  with  thee  to  smile, 
When  leagued  Oppression  pour'd  to  Northern  wars 
Her  whisker' d  pandoors"-'  and  her  fierce  hussars, 
6  Waved  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  morn, 
Peal'd  her  loud  drum,  and  twang' d  her  trumpet  horn ; 
Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o'er  her  van, 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland  —  and  to  man  ! 

Warsaw's  last  champion  from  her  height  survey'd, 
10  Wide  o'er  the  fields,  a  waste  of  ruin  laid,  — 

O !  Heaven  I  he  cried,  my  bleeding  country  save  I  — 
Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave  ? 

*Pandoor,  one  of  a  body  of  light  Infantry  soldiers  in  the  service  of  Austria ; 
8o  called  because  originally  raised  from  the  mountainous  districts,  near  the 
village  of  Pandur,  in  Lower  Hungary. 


5^  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  those  lovely  plains, 

Rise,  fellow-men !  our  country  yet  remains  ! 

By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high, 

And  swear  for  her  to  live  —  with  her  to  die ! 
5       He  said,  and  on  the  rampart-heights  array'd 

His  trusty  warriors,  few,  but  undismay'd  ; 

Firm-paced  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form, 

Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm ; 

Low  murmuring  sounds  along  their  banners  fly, 
10  Revenge,  or  death,  —  the  watchword  and  reply ; 

Then  peal'd  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm, 

And  the  loud  tocsin  toU'd  their  last  alarm !  — 
In  vain,  alas !  in  vain,  ye  gallant  few ! 

From  rank  to  rank  your  volley'd  thunder  flew :  — 
15  0,  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  Time, 

Sarmatia  fell,  unwept,  without  a  crime  ; 

Found  not  a  generous  friend,  a  pitying  foe, 

Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  woe ! 

Dropp'd  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shatter'd  spear, 
20  Closed  her  bright  eye,  and  curb'd  her  high  career :  — 

Hope,  for  a  season,  bade  the  world  farewell. 

And  freedom  shriek' d  —  as  Kosciusko  fell ! 

The  sun  went  down,  nor  ceased  the  carnage  there. 

Tumultuous  murder  shook  the  midnight  air  — 
25  On  Prague's  proud  arch  the  fires  of  ruin  glow, 

His  blood-dyed  waters  murmuring  far  below  ; 

The  storm  prevails,  the  rampart  yields  a  way. 

Bursts  the  wild  cry  of  horror  and  dismay ! 

Hark,  as  the  smouldering  piles  with  thunder  fall, 
30  A  thousand  shrieks  for  hopeless  mercy  call ! 

Earth  shook  —  red  meteors  flash'd  along  the  sky. 

And  conscious  Nature  shudder'd  at  the  cry  ! 

0  !  righteous  Heaven  !  ere  Freedom  found  a  grave, 

Why  slept  the  sword,  omnipotent  to  save  ? 
35  Where  was  thine  arm,  O  Vengeance  !  where  thy  rod, 

That  smote  the  foes  of  Zion  and  of  God ; 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  57 

That  crusli'd  proud  Ammon,  when  his  iron  car 
Was  yoked  in  wrath,  and  thunder' d  from  afar  ? 
Where  was  the  storm  that  slumber' d  till  the  host 
Of  blood-stain'd  Pharaoh  left  their  trembling  coast, 
5  Then  bade  the  deep  in  wild  commotion  flow, 
And  heaved  an  ocean  on  their  march  below  ? 

Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead ! 
Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leuctra  bled ! 
Triends  of  the  world  !  restore  your  swords  to  man, 

10  Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van ! 
Yet  for  Sarmatia's  tears  of  blood  atone, 
And  make  her  arm  puissant  as  your  own ! 
• !  once  again  to  Freedom's  cause  return 
The  patriot  Tell  —  the  Bruce  of  Bannockbum ! 

15       Ye  fond  adorers  of  departed  fame, 

Who  warm  at  Scipio's  worth,  or  Tully's  name  I 
Ye  that,  in  fancied  vision,  can  admire 
The  sword  of  Brutus,  and  the  Theban  lyre !  =••' 
Rapt  in  historic  ardor,  who  adore 

20  Each  classic  haunt,  and  well-remember' d  shore. 
Where  valor  tuned,  amidst  her  chosen  throng, 
The  Thracian  trumpet,  and  the  Spartan  song ; 
Or,  wandering  thence,  behold  the  later  charms 
Of  England's  glory,  and  Helvetia's  arms  ! 

25  See  Roman  fire  in  Hampden's  bosom  swell. 
And  fate  and  freedom  in  the  shaft  of  Tell ! 
Say,  ye  fond  zealots  to  the  worth  of  yore, 
Hath  Valor  left  the  world  —  to  live  no  more  ? 
No  more  shall  Brutus  bid  a  tyrant  die, 

30  And  sternly  smile  with  vengeance  in  his  eye  ? 
Hampden  no  more,  when  suffering  Freedom  calls. 
Encounter  Fate,  and  triumph  as  he  falls  ? 
Nor  Tell  disclose,  through  peril  and  alarm, 
The  might  that  slumbers  in  a  peasant's  arm? 

*  "  The  Theban  Lyre."    The  poetry  of  Pindar,  a  celebrated  lyric  poet,  bom 
in  Thebea, 


58  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Yes,  in  that  generous  cause,  forever  strong, 
The  patriot's  virtue  and  the  poet's  song, 
Still,  as  the  tide  of  ages  rolls  away. 
Shall  charm  the  world,  unconscious  of  decay. 
5       Yes,  there  are  hearts,  prophetic  Hope  may  trust. 
That  slumber  yet  in  uncreated  dust, 
Ordain'd  to  fire  the  adoring  sons  of  earth, 
AVith  every  charm  of  wisdom  and  of  worth ; 
Ordain'd  to  light  with  intellectual  day, 
10  The  mazy  wheels  of  nature  as  they  play, 
Or,  warm  with  Fancy's  energy,  to  glow, 
And  rival  all  but  Shakspeare's  name  below. 


XVIIL  — THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  SIR  WALTEE  SCOTT. 

LOCKHART. 

[The  Life  of  Scott,  by  his  son-in-law,  John  Gibson  Lockhart,  is  one  of 
the  most  delightful  books  in  the  language  ;  in  all  parts  full  of  interest,  which 
becomes  of  a  melancholy  cast  towards  the  close.  Lockhart  was  a  man  of 
brilliant  literary  powers.  He  wrote  "  Valerius,"  "Matthew  Wald,"  "Adam 
Blair,"  and  "  Reginald  Dalton,"  all  novels ;  "  Peter's  Letters,"  a  series  of 
sketches  of  Scotch  society  and  of  eminent  men  in  Scotland ;  and  a  volume  of 
translations  from  the  Spanish  ballads.  He  was  also  a  frequent  contributor  to 
the  earlier  numbers  of  "  Blackwood's  Magazine."  He  was  born  in  Glasgow 
in  1792,  and  died  at  Abbotsford,  in  1864.  He  had  been  for  many  years  editor  of 
the  "  Quarterly  Review." 

In  consequence  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  declining  health,  he  had  passed  the 
, winter  of  1831-2  in  Italy ;  but  with  very  little  benefit.  In  June,  1832,  while  on 
his  way  home,  he  had  an  attack  of  apoplectic  paralysis,  from  whicli  he  never 
rallied.  On  the  9th  of  July,  he  reached  Edinburgh,  in  a  state  of  almost  entire 
insensibility.  This  extract  begins  with  his  removal  to  his  own  house  at  Ab- 
botsford, about  forty  miles  south-east  of  Edinburgh,  on  the  Tweed.  The  Gala 
flows  into  the  Tweed  near  by.] 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  morning  of  Wednesday, 
the  1  llh,  we  again  placed  him  in  his  carriage,  and  he  lay 
in  the  same  torpid  state  during  the  first  two  stages  on  the 
road  to  Tweedside.  But  as  we  ascended  the  vale  of  the 
5  Gala,  he  began  to  gaze  about  him,  and  by  degrees  it  was 
obvious  that  he  was   recognizing   the   features  of  that 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  59 

familiar  landscape.  Presently  he  murmured  a  name  or 
two  —  *  *  Gala  Water,  surely — Buckholm — Torwoodlee. ' '  '^ 
As  we  rounded  the  hill  at  Ladhope,  and  the  outlines  of 
the  Eildons  hurst  on  him,  he  became  greatly  excited ;  and 
5  when,  turning  himself  on  the  couch,  his  eye  caught  at 
length  his  own  towers,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  he 
sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  delight. 

The  river  being  in  a  flood,  we  had  to  go  round  a  few 
miles  by  Melrose  bridge ;  and  during  the  time  this  occu- 

10  pied,  his  woods  and  house  being  within  prospect,  it  re- 
quired occasionally  both  Dr.  Watson's  strength  and  mine, 
in  addition  to  Nicholson' s,f  to  keep  him  in  the  carriage. 
After  passing  the  bridge,  the  road  for  a  couple  of  miles 
loses  sight  of  Abbotsford,  and  he  relapsed  into  his  stupor ; 

15  but  on  gaining  the  bank  immediately  above  it,  his  excite- 
ment became  ungovernable. 

Mr.  Laidlaw  J  was  waiting  at  the  porch,  and  assisted  us 
in  lifting  him  into  the  dining-room,  where  his  bed  had 
been  prepared.     He  sat  bewildered  for  a  few  moments, 

20  and  then  resting  his  eye  on  Laidlaw,  said,  "  Ha,  W^illie 
Laidlaw !  0  man,  how  often  have  I  thought  of  you  !  " 
By  this  time  his  dogs  had  assembled  about  his  chair; 
they  began  to  fawn  upon  him,  and  lick  his  hands,  and  he 
alternately  sobbed  and  smiled  over  them,  until  sleep  op- 

25  pressed  him. 

Dr.  Watson,  having  consulted  on  all  things  with  Mr. 
Clarkson§  and  his  father,  resigned  the  patient  to  them, 
and  returned  to  London.  None  of  them  could  have  any 
hope,  but  that  of  soothing  irritation.     Eecovery  was  no 

30  longer  to  be  thought  of  And  yet  something  like  a  ray  of 
hope   did  break  in  upon  us,  next  morning.     Sir  Walter 

*  Torwoodlee  is  a  country  seat  near  Abbotsford.  Buckholm  is  an  old 
tower, 

t  Nicholson  was  Sir  VTalter  Scott's  servant. 

X  Mr.  Laidlaw,  a  worthy  and  intelligent  man,  to  whom  Scott  was  much 
attached,  was  the  manager  of  his  estate. 

§  Mr.  Clarksou  was  a  surgeon. 


60  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

awote  perfectly  conscious  where  he  was,  and  expressed  an 
ardent  wish  to  be  carried  out  into  his  garden.  We  pro- 
cured a  Bath  chair  from  Huntly  Burn/-'  and  Laidlaw  and 
I  wheeled  him  out  before  his  door,  and  up  and  down  for 
6  some  time  on  the  turf,  and  among  the  rose-beds,  then  in 
full  bloom.  The  grandchildren  admired  the  new  vehicle, 
and  would  be  helping  in  their  way  to  push  it  about.  He 
sat  in  silence,  smiling  placidly  on  them,  and  the  dogs, 
their  companions,  and  now  and  then  admiring  the  house, 

10  the  screen  of  the  garden,  and  the  flowers  and  trees.  By- 
and-by  he  conversed  a  little,  very  composedly,  with  us ; 
said  he  was  happy  to  be  at  home ;  that  he  felt  better  than 
he  had  ever  done  since  he  left  it,  and  would  perhaps  dis- 
appoint the  doctors,  after  all. 

15  He  then  desired  to  be  wheeled  through  his  rooms,  and 
we  moved  him  leisurely  for  an  hour  or  more  up  and  down 
the  hall  and  the  great  library.  "  I  have  seen  much,"  he 
kept  saying,  **  but  nothing  like  my  ain  house ;  give  me 
one  turn  more."     He  was  gentle  as  an  infant,  and  allowed 

20  himself  to  be  put  to  bed  again  the  moment  we  told  him 
that  we  thought  he  had  had  enough  for  one  day. 

Next  morning  he  was  still  better.  After  again  enjoy- 
ing the  Bath  chair  for  perhaps  a  couple  of  hours,  he  de- 
sired to  be  drawn  into  the  library,  and  placed  by  the  cen- 

25  tral  window,  that  he  might  look  down  upon  the  Tweed. 
Here  he  expressed  a  wish  that  I  should  read  to  him  ;  and 
when  I  asked  from  what  book,  he  said,  "  Need  you  ask? 
There  is  but  one."  I  chose  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  St. 
John's  Gospel ;  he  listened  with  mild  devotion,  and  said, 

30  when  I  had  done,  "  Well,  this  is  a  great  comfort ;  I  have 
followed  you  distinctly,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  were  yet  to  be 
myself  again."  In  this  placid  frame  he  was  again  put 
to  bed,  and  had  many  hours  of  soft  slumber. 

On  Monday  he  remained  in  bed,  and  seemed  extremely 

*  Huntly  Bum  is  a  cottage  on  the  estate  of  Abbotsford,  then  occupied  by 
Sir  Adam  Ferguson,  a  friend  of  Scott's. 


iiillard's  sixth  reader.  61 

feeWe;  but  after  breakfast  on  Tuesday,  the  17tb,  he  ap- 
peared revived  somewhat,  and  was  again  wheeled  about  on 
the  turf.  Presently  he  fell  asleep  in  his  chair,  and  after 
dozing  for  perhaps  half  an  hour,  started  awake,  and  shak- 
5  ing  the  plaids,  we  had  put  about  him,  from  off  his  shoul- 
ders, said,  "  This  is  sad  idleness.  I  shall  forget  what  I 
have  been  thinking  of,  if  I  don't  set  it  down  now.  Take 
me  into  my  own  room,  and  fetch  the  keys  of  my  desk." 
He  repeated  this  so  earnestly  that  we  could  not  refuse ; 

10  his  daughters  went  into  his  study,  opened  his  writing- 
desk,  and  laid  paper  and  pens  in  the  usual  order,  and  I 
then  moxed  him  through  the  hall  and  into  the  spot  where 
he  had  always  been  accustomed  to  work.  When  the  chair 
was  placed  at  the  desk,  and  he  found  himself  in  the  old 

15  position,  he  smiled  and  thanked  us,  and  said,  "  Now  give 
me  my  pen,  and  leave  me  for  a  little  to  myself."  Sophia'-* 
put  the  pen  into  his  hand,  and  he  endeavored  to  close  his 
fingers  upon  it,  but  they  refused  their  office  —  it  dropped 
on  the  paper.     He  sank  back  among  his  pillows,  silent 

20  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks  ;  but  composing  himself,  by- 
and-by,  motioned  to  me  to  wheel  him  out  of  doors  again. 
Laidlaw  met  us  at  the  porch,  and  took  his  turn  of  the 
chair.  Sir  Walter,  after  a  little  while,  again  dropped 
into  slumber.    When  he  was  awaking,  Laidlaw  said  to  me, 

25  "Sir  Walter  has  had  a  little  repose."  "No,  Willie," 
said  he,  "no  repose  for  Sir  AValter  but  in  the  grave." 
The  tears  again  rushed  from  his  eyes.  "  Friends,"  said 
he,  "  don't  let  me  expose  myself;  get  me  to  bed  —  that 's 
the  only  place." 

30  With  this  scene  ended  our  glimpse  of  daylight.  Sir 
Walter  never,  I  think,  left  his  room  afterwards,  and 
hardly  his  bed,  except  for  an  hour  or  two  in  the  middle  of 
the  day ;  and  after  another  week  he  was  unable  even  to 
do  this. 

*  Sophia  was  Mrs.  Lockhart,  Scott's  eldest  daughter. 
6 


62   -  hillard's  sixth  eeader.  ^ 

After  this  he  declined  daily,  but  still  there  was  great 
strength  to  be  wasted,  send  the  process  was  long.  He 
seemed,  however,  to  suffer  no  bodily  pain,  and  his  mind, 
though  hopelessly  obscured,  appeared,  when  there  was 
5  any  symptom  of  consciousness,  to  be  dwelling,  with  rare 
exceptions,  on  serious  and  solemn  things ;  the  accent  of 
the  voice,  grave,  sometimes  awful,  was  never  querulous, 
and  very  seldom  indicative  of  any  angry  or  resentful 
thoughts. 

10  All  this  time  he  continued  to  recognize  his  daughters, 
Laidlaw,  and  myself,  whenever  we  spoke  to  him,  and 
received  every  attention  with  a  most  touching  thankful- 
ness. Mr.  Clarkson,  too,  was  always  saluted  with  the  old 
courtesy,  though  the  cloud  opened  but  a  moment  for  him 

15  to  do  so.  Most  truly  might  it  be  said  that  the  gentleman 
survived  his  genius. 

As  I  was  dressing  on  the  morning  of  Monday,  the  17th 
of  September,  Nicholson  came  into  my  room,  and  told  me 
that  his  master  had  wakened  in  a  state  of  composure  and 

20  consciousness,  and  wished  to  see  me  immediately.  I  found 
him  entirely  himself,  though  in  the  last  extreme  of  fee- 
bleness. His  eye  was  clear  and  calm,  every  trace  of 
the  wild  fire  of  delirium  extinguished.  *'  Lockhart,"  he 
said,   "I  may  have  but  a  minute   to   speak  with  you. 

25  My  dear,  be  a  good  man ;  be  virtuous ;  be  religious ;  be 
a  good  man.  Nothing  else  will  give  you  any  comfort 
when  you  come  to  lie  here.""  He  paused,  and  I  said, 
"  Shall  I  send  for  Sophia  and  Anne  ?  "f  "  No,"  said  he, 
"don't  disturb  them.     Poor  souls  !  I  know  they  were  up 

30  all  night.  God  bless  you  all !  "  With  this  he  sank  into 
a  very  tranquil  sleep  ;  and,  indeed,  he  scarcely  afterwards 

*  These  are  remarkable  words.  Here  was  a  man  who  had  won  the  highest 
prizes  of  life ;  had  gained  the  most  splendid  literary  reputation  ;  had  been 
honored,  flattered,  and  caressed  as  few  men  have  ever  been  ;  and  yet,  at  the 
last  moment,  falls  back  for  support  on  moral  worth  and  religious  faith — that 
possession  which  all  may  earn. 

t  Anne  was  his  second  daughter. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  63 

gave  any  sign  of  consciousness,  except  for  an  instant  on 
the  arrival  of  his  sons.  They,  on  learning  that  the  scene 
was  about  to  close,  obtained  a  new  leave  of  absence  from 
their  posts,  and  both  reached  Abbotsford  on  the  19th. 
5  About  half  past  one  P.  M.,  on  the  21st  of  September, 
Sir  Walter  breathed  his  last,  in  the  presence  of  all  his 
children. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day ;  so  warm  that  every  window 
was  wide  open,  and  so  perfectly  still  that  the  sound  of  all 
10  others  most  delicious  to  his  ear,  the  gentle  ripple  of  the 
Tweed  over  its  pebbles,  was  distinctly  audible  as  we  knelt 
around  the  bed,  and  his  eldest  son  kissed  and  closed  his 
eyes. 


XIX.  — THE  CHAEACTEE  OF   SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Fkescott. 

[William  Hickling  Prescott  was  born  in  Salem,  Massachusetts,  May 
4, 1796,  and  died  in  Boston,  January  28,  1859.  His  grandfather  was  Colonel 
William  Prescott,  who  commanded  in  the  redoubt  at  Bunker  HUl.  He  is  the 
author  of  four  historical  works  —  "The  History  of  the  Reign  of  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,"  "  The  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,"  "  The  History  of  the 
Conquest  of  Peru,"  and  "The  History  of  the  Reign  of  Philip  the  Second;" 
which  last  was  left  unfinished  at  the  time  of  his  death.  These  are  all  produc- 
tions of  great  merit,  and  have  received  the  highest  commendations  at  home 
and  abroad.  Among  their  most  conspicuous  excellences  may  be  mentioned 
their  thoroughness  of  investigation  and  research.  Mr.  Prescott  examined, 
with  untiring  industry,  all  possible  sources  of  information,  whether  in  print  or 
in  manuscript,  which  could  throw  light  upon  the  subjects  of  which  he  treated. 
This  was  the  more  honorable  to  him,  as,  in  consequence  of  an  accident  in  col- 
lege, he  was  deprived,  to  a  considerable  degree,  of  the  use  of  his  eyes,  and  was 
constantly  obliged  to  make  use  of  the  sight  of  others  in  prosecuting  his  studies. 

He  was  also  candid  in  his  judgments  alike  of  historical  personages  and  of 
particular  periods.  The  character  of  his  mind  forbade  his  being  a  partisan  on 
any  side ;  and  he  preferred  to  state  cases  rather  than  to  argue  them. 

Besides  these  substantial  merits  of  learning  and  sound  judgment,  his  works 
have  an  element  of  attraction  in  their  style  and  manner,  which,  more  than 
anything  else,  has  contributed  to  their  great  popularity.  He  describes  scenes 
and  narrates  events  with  the  greatest  beauty  and  animation ;  and  the  subjects 
he  has  chosen — dealing  with  romantic  adventure  among  the  mountains  of 
Spain,  or  in  the  splendid  scenery  of  Mexico  and  Peru  —  give  ample  scope  to 
this  power.    There  is  a  limpid  purity  and  engaging  sweetness  in  his  style, 


04  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

which  lead  the  reader  along  from  page  to  page  unconsciously,  and  lend  to 
truth  all  the  charm  of  fiction. 

Mr.  Prescott  was  a  man  of  most  amiable  character  and  engaging  manners, 
and  greatly  beloved  by  all  who  knew  liim. 

The  foUowmg  extract  is  from  an  article  in  the  "  North  American  Review."] 

Take  it  for  all  and  all,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
the  character  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  is  probably  the  most 
remarkable  on  record.  There  is  no  man  of  historical 
celebrity  that  we  now  recall,  who  combined,  in  so  eminent 
5  a  degree,  the  highest  qualities  of  the  moral,  the  intellect- 
ual, and  the  physical.  He  united  in  his  own  character 
what  hitherto  had  been  found  incompatible.  Though  a 
poet,  and  living  in  an  ideal  world,  he  was  an  exact,  me- 
thodical man  of  business  ;  though  achieving  with  the  most 

10  wonderful  facility  of  genius,  he  was  patient  and  laborious; 
a  mousing  antiquarian,  yet  with  the  most  active  interest 
in  the  present  and  whatever  was  going  on  around  him ; 
with  a  strong  turn  for  a  roving  life  and  military  adventure, 
he  was  yet  chained  to  his  desk  more  hours,  at  some  periods 

1 5  of  his  life,  than  a  monkish  recluse ;  a  man  with  a  heart 
as  capacious  as  his  head ;  a  Tory,  brimful  of  Jacobitism, 
yet  full  of  sympathy  and  unaffected  familiarity  with  all 
classes,  even  the  humblest;  a  successful  author,  without 
pedantry  and  without  conceit ;  one,  indeed,  at  the  head  of 

20  the  republic  of  letters,  and  yet  with  a  lower  estimate  of 
letters,  as  compared  with  other  intellectual  pursuits,  than 
was  ever  hazarded  before. 

The  first  quality  of  his  character,  or,  rather,  that  which 
forms  the  basis  of  it,  as  of  all  great  characters,  was  his 

25  energy.  We  see  it,  in  his  early  youth,  triumphing  over 
the  impediments  of  nature,  and,  in  spite  of  lameness, 
making  him  conspicuous  in  every  sort  of  athletic  exercise 
—  clambering  up  dizzy  precipices,  wading  through  treach- 
erous fords,  and  performing  feats  of  pedestrianism  that 

30  make  one's  joints  ache  to  read  of.    As  he  advanced  in  life, 

we  see  the  same  force  of  purpose  turned  to  higher  objects. 

We  see  the  same  powerful  energies  triumphing  over 


HILLARD*S   SIXTH   READER.  65 

disease  at  a  later  period,  when  nothing  but  a  resolution  to 
get  the  better  of  it  enabled  him  to  do  so.  "  Be  assured,'* 
he  remarked  to  Mr.  Gillies,  "that  if  pain  could  have 
prevented  my  application  to  literary  labor,  not  a  page  of 
5  Ivanhoe  would  have  been  written.  Now  if  I  had  given 
way  to  mere  feelings,  and  had  ceased  to  work,  it  is  a  ques- 
tion whether  the  disorder  might  not  have  taken  a  deeper 
root,  and  become  incurable." 

Another  quality,  which,  like  the  last,  seems  to  have 

10  given  the  tone  to  his  character,  was  his  social  or  benevolent 
feelings.  His  heart  was  an  unfailing  fountain,  which  not 
merely  the  distresses,  but  the  joys  of  his  fellow-creatures 
made  to  flow  like  water. 

Barely  indeed  is  this  precious  quality  found  united  with 

15  the  most  exalted  intellect.  Whether  it  be  that  Nature, 
chary  of  her  gifts,  does  not  care  to  shower  too  many  of 
them  on  one  head ;  or  that  the  public  admiration  has  led 
the  man  of  intellect  to  set  too  high  a  value  on  himself,  or 
at  least  his  own  pursuits,  to  take  an  interest  in  the  infe- 

20  rior  concerns  of  others ;  or  that  the  fear  of  compromising 
his  dignity  puts  him  "  on  points  "  with  those  who  approach 
him ;  or  whether,  in  truth,  the  very  magnitude  of  his  own 
reputation  throws  a  freezing  shadow  over  us  little  people 
in  his  neighborhood  —  whatever  be  the  cause,  it  is  too 

25  true  that  the  highest  powers  of  mind  are  very  often  de- 
ficient in  the  only  one  which  can  make  the  rest  of  much 
worth  in  society  —  the  power  of  pleasing. 

Scott  was  not  one  of  these  little  great.     His  was  not' 
one  of  those  dark-lantern  visages  which  concentrate  all 

80  their  light  on  their  own  path,  and  are  black  as  midnight 
to  all  about  them.  He  had  a  ready  sympathy,  a  word  of 
contagious  kindness  or  cordial  greeting  for  all.  His  man- 
ners, too,  were  of  a  kind  to  dispel  the  icy  reserve  and  awe 
which  his  great  name  was  calculated  to  inspire. 

35       He  relished  a  good  joke,  from  whatever  quarter  it  came, 
and  was  not  over-dainty  in  his  manner  of  testifying  his 
6* 


6Q  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

satisfaction.  "  In  the  full  tide  of  mirth,  he  did  indeed 
laugh  the  heart's  laugh,"  says  Mr.  Adolphus.  "  Give  me 
an  honest  laugher,"  said  Scott  himself  on  another  occa- 
sion, when  a  buckram  man  of  fashion  had  been  paying 
5  him  a  visit  at  Abbotsford. 

His  manners,  free  from  affectation  or  artifice  of  any  sort, 
exhibited  the  spontaneous  movements  of  a  kind  disposi- 
tion, subject  to  those  rules  of  good  breeding  which  Nature 
herself  might  have  dictated.     In  this  way  he  answered  his 

10  own  purpose  admirably  as  a  painter  of  character,  by  put- 
ting every  man  in  good  humor  with  himself,  in  the  same 
manner  as  a  cunning  portrait-painter  amuses  his  sitters 
with  such  store  of  fun  and  anecdote  as  may  throw  them 
off  their  guard,  and  call  out  the  happiest  expressions  of 

15  their  countenances. 

The  place  where  his  benevolent  impulses  found  their 
proper  theatre  for  expansion  was  his  own  home ;  sur- 
rounded by  a  happy  family,  and  dispensing  all  the  hospi- 
talities of  a  great  feudal  proprietor.  "   "  There  are  many 

20  good  things  in  life,"  he  says,  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  what- 
ever satirists  and  misanthropes  may  say  to  the  contrary ; 
but  probably  the  best  of  all,  next  to  a  conscience  void  of 
offence,  (without  which,  by-the-by,  they  can  hardly  exist,) 
are  the  quiet  exercise  and  enjoyment  of  the  social  feelings, 

25  in  which  we  are  at  once  happy  ourselves,  and  the  cause  of 
happiness  to  them  who  are  dearest  to  us."^ 

Every  page  of  the  work,  almost,  shows  us  how  intimately 
he  blended  himself  with  the  pleasures  and  the  pursuits  of 
his  own  family,  watched  over  the  education  of  his  chil- 

30  dren,  shared  in  their  rides,  their  rambles,  and  sports, 
losing  no  opportunity  of  kindling  in  their  young  minds  a 
love  of  virtue,  and  honorable  principles  of  action. 

But  Scott's  sympathies  were  not  confined  to  his  species, 
and  if  he  treated  them  like  blood  relations,  be  treated  his 

35  brute  followers  like  personal  friends.  ^  Every  one  remenv 
bers  old  Maida  and  faithful  Camp,  the  **  dear  old  friend," 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  67 

whose  loss  cost  him  a  dinner.  Mr.  Gillies  tells  us  that  he 
went  into  his  study  on  one  occasion,  when  he  was  winding 
off  his  *'  Vision  of  Don  Eoderick."  **  '  Look  here,'  said  the 
poet,  '  I  have  just  begun  to  copy  over  the  rhymes  that  you 
5  heard  to-day  and  applauded  so  much.  Keturn  to  supper 
if  you  can ;  only  don't  be  late,  as  you  perceive  we  keep 
early  hours,  and  Wallace  will  not  suffer  me  to  rest  after 
six  in  the  morning.  Come,  good  dog,  and  help  the  poet.' 
**  At  this  hint,  Wallace  seated  himself  upright  on  a 

10  chair  next  his  master,  who  offered  him  a  newspaper,  which 
he  directly  seized,  looking  very  wise,  and  holding  it  firmly 
and  contently  in  his  mouth.  Scott  looked  at  him  with 
great  satisfaction,  for  he  was  excessively  fond  of  dogs. 
'Very  well,'  said  he;  'now  we  shall  get  on.'     And  so  I 

l5  left  them  abruptly,  knowing  that  my  *  absence  would  be 
the  best  company.'  " 


XX. —  THE    BATTLE   OF   FLODDEN   FIELD. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

[The  following'  extract  from  "Marmion"  describes  the  battle  of  Flodden' 
Field,  or  Flodden,  in  which  the  English,  under  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  defeated, 
with  great  slaughter,  the  Scotch,  under  their  king,  James  IV.,  September  9, 
1513.  Flodden  Hill,  an  offshoot  of  the  Cheviot  range,  is  in  the  county  of 
Northumberland,  in  England,  a  few  miles  from  the  town  of  Coldstream. 
Marmion,  an  imaginary  personage,  is  an  English  nobleman  of  bad  character. 
Blount  and  Fitz  Eustace  are  his  squires.  Lady  Clare  is  an  English  heiress, 
for  whose  hand  Marmion  had  been  an  unsuccessful  suitor,  and  whose  lover, 
Wilton,  now  fighting  on  the  English  side,  he  had  attempted  to  ruin,  but  failed. 
Jeffrey,  in  his  review  of  "  Marmion,"  in  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  says :  —  "Of 
all  the  poetical  battles  which  have  been  fought,  from  the  days  of  Homer  to 
those  of  Mr.  Southey,  there  is  none,  in  our  opinion,  at  all  comparable,  for 
interest  and  animation,  for  breadth  of  drawing,  and  magnificence  of  effect, 
with  this."] 

Blount-  and  Fitz  Eustace  rested  still 
With  Lady  Clare  upon  the  hill ; 
On  which  (for  far  the  day  was  spent) 
The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent; 
♦Pronounced  Blont  or  Blunt. 


QS  hillakd's  sixth  reader/ 

\T  The  cry  they  heard,  its  meaning  knew, 
Could  plain  their  distant  comrades  view : 
Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say, 
*'  Unworthy  office  hereto  stay  ! 
5  No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day.  — '^ 
,  But  see !  look  up  —  on  Flodden  bent 
The  Scottish  foe  has  fired  his  tent." 

And  sudden,  as  he  spoke, 
From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  hill, 
10  All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till, 
Was  wreathed  in  sable  smoke. 
Volumed  and  fast,  and  rolling  far, 
The  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war. 
As  down  the  hill  they  broke ; 
15  Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone, 
}  Announced  their  march  ;  their  tread  alone, 
At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown, 

At  times  a  stifled  hum. 
Told  England,  from  his  mountain-throne 
20  King  James  did  rushing  come.  — 

Scarce  could  they  hear  or  see  their  foes, 
:jjf.  Until  at  weapon-point  they  close.  — 
They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust, 
"With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust ; 
25  And  such  a  yell  was  there. 

Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 
^J  As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth, 
And  fiends  in  upper  air ; 
0  life  and  death  were  in  the  shout, 
30    Eecoil  and  rally,  charge  and  rout. 
And  triumph  and  despair. 
^,  Long  look'd  the  anxious  squires  ;  their  eye    • 
Could  in  the  darkness  nought  descry. 

♦That  is,  no  hope  of  being  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  knighthood,  of  which 
gilded  spurs  were  the  badge. 


HILLARD'S    SIXTH   READER.  60 

At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 
Aside  the  shroud  of  battle  cast ; 
And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears 
Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears ; 
5  And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons  flew, 
As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 
Then  mark'd  they,  dashing  broad  and  far, 
The  broken  billows  of  the  war, 
And  plumed  crests  of  chieftains  brave, 
10  Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave  ; 
But  nought  distinct  they  see. 
Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain  ; 
Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flash'd  amain ; 
Fell  England's  arrow-flight  like  rain  ; 
15  Crests  rose,  and  stoop' d,  and  rose  again,  ^ 
Wild  and  disorderly. 
Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while, 
Stanley  broke  Lennox  and  Argyle  ; 
Though  there  the  western  mountaineer 
20  Eushed  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear. 
And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 
And  with  both  hands  the  broadsword  plied, 
'T  was  vain  :  —  But  Fortune,  on  the  right, 
With  fickle  smile,  cheered  Scotland's  fight. 
25  Then  fell  that  spotless  banner  white. 
The  Howard's  lion  fell ; 
Yet  still  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 
With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 
Around  the  battle-yell. 
30  The  Border  slogan  rent  the  sky. 
A  Home  !  a  Gordon  !  was  the  cry : 

Loud  were  the  changing  blows  ; 
Advanced,  —  forced  back,  —  now  low,  now  high. 
The  pennon  sunk  and  rose  ; 
35  As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale, 
When  rent  are  rigging,  shrouds,  and  sail, 
It  wavered  'mid  the  foes. 


70  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

No  longer  Blount  the  view  could  bear : 
"  By  Heaven  and  all  its  saints  !  I  swear 
I  will  not  see  it  lost ! 
Fitz  Eustace,  you,  with  Lady  Clare, 
5  May  bid  your  beads,  and  patter  prayer,  — 
I  gallop  to  the  host." 
And  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain, 
Followed  by  all  the  archer  train. 
The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 
10  Made,  for  a  spa<je,  an  opening  large,  — 
The  rescued  banner  rose,  — 
But  darkly  closed  the  war  around, 
Like  pine-tree,  rooted  from  the  ground, 
It  sank  among  the  foes. 
15  Then  Eustace  mounted  too  ;  —  yet  staid, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  helpless  maid, 
When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly. 
Blood-shot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread, 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head, 
20  Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red, 

Lord  Marmion's  steed  rushed  by ; 
And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 
A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast, 
To  mark  he  would  return  in  haste, 
25  Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 

Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels, 
Left  in  that  dreadful  hour  alone : 
Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels ; 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own, 
30       Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone.  — 
The  scatter' d  van  of  England  wheels ;  — 
She  only  said,  as  loud  in  air 
The  tumult  roar'd,  "  Is  Wilton  there  ?  "  — 
They  fly,  or,  madden' d  by  despair. 
Eight  but  to  die,  —  "  Is  Wilton  there  ?  " 


hillard's  sixth  eeader.  71 

XXL  — SAME    SUBJECT,   CONCLUDED. 

"With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 
Two  horsemen  drench'd  with  gore, 

And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 
A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
5  His  hand  still  strain'd  the  broken  brand ; 

His  arms  were  smear' d  with  blood  and  sand : 

Dragg'd  from  among  the  horses'  feet, 

With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 

The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone, 
10  Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion  ! . . . 

When,  doff'd  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air, 

Around  'gan  Marmion  wildly  stare  :  — 

"  Where 's  Harry  Blount  ?     Eitz  Eustace  where? 

Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare  ! 
15  Kedeem  my  pennon,  —  charge  again ! 

Cry  —  '  Marmion  to  the  rescue  ! '  —  vain  ! 

Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 

That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again !  — 

Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's  —  fly, 
20       To  Dacre  bear  my  signet-ring : 

Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring.  — 

Eitz  Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  hie  ; 

Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field, 

His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield : 
25  Edmund  is  down :  —  my  life  is  reft ; 

The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 

Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire,  — 

With  Chester  charge  and  Lancashire, 

Eull  upon  Scotland's  central  host, 
80  Or  victory  and  England  's  lost. — 

Must  I  bid  twice  ?  —  hence,  varlets  !  fly  I 

Leave  Marmion  here,  alone  —  to  die  !  " 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay : 

Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away, 


^2  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 
And  half  he  murmured,  —  "Is  there  none 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst, 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
5  Of  blessed  water  from  the  spring. 
To  slake  my  dying  thirst !  " 
O,  woman  !  in  our  hours  of  ease. 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
10  By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made  ; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  !  — 
Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 
When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 
15  To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran  : 

Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears  ; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears. 

Sees  but  the  dying  man. 
She  fill'd  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied, 
20  And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  monk  supporting  Marmion's  head  ; 
A  pious  man  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 
To  shrive  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 
25  The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 

Now  trebly  thundering  swell' d  the  gale, 

And —  Stanley  !  was  the  cry  ;  — , 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread. 
And  fired  his  glazing  eye  : 
30  With  dying  hand,  above  his  head. 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade. 
And  shouted,  "  Victory  !  — 
Charge,  Chester,  charge  !     On,  Stanley,  on ! 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 
35  By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell, 
Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell, 


hillakd's  «ixth  reader.  73 

For  still  the  Scots,  around  their  king, 
Unbroken,  fouglit  in  desperate  ring. 
The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hail'd, 
In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assail' d, 
5  Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep, 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep, 

That  fought  around  their  king. 
But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow, 
Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
10  Though  billraen  ply  the  ghastly  blow, 

Unbroken  was  the  ring  ; 
The  stubborn  spearmen  still  made  good 
Their  dark  impenetrable  wood. 
Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 
15  The  instant  that  he  fell. 

No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight ; 

Link'd  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight, 

Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight. 

As  fearlessly  and  well ; 
20  Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  their  thin  host  and  wounded  king. 
Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shattered  bands  ; 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew, 
25  As  mountain- waves,  from  wasted  lands, 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foeman  know  ; 
Their  king,  their  lords,  their  mightiest,  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
30  When  streams  are  swoln,  and  south  winds  blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash. 

While  many  a  broken  band. 
Disorder' d,  through  her  currents  dash. 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land ; 

7 


74  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

To  town  and  tower,  to  down  and  dale, 
To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale 
And  raise  the  universal  wail. 
Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song, 
5  Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong  ; 
Still  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 

Of  Flodden's  fatal  field, 
Where  shivered  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 

And  broken  was  her  shield  ! 


XXII.  —  AUTUMN. 

H.  W.  Beecher. 
'  [HEKRT  Ward  Beecher  was  bom  in  Litchfield,  Connecticut,  Jane  24, 1813, 
graduated  at  Amherst  College  in  1834,  studied  theology  under  his  father,  the 
Rev.  Lyman  Beecher,  and  since  1847  has  been  pastor  of  the  Plymouth  Church 
in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  He  is  an  eloquent  and  effective  preacher,  and  as  a  lecturer 
to  the  people  he  enjoys  an  unrivalled  popularity,  earned  by  the  happy  combi- 
nation of  humor,  pathos,  earnestness,  and  genial  sympathy  with  humanity, 
which  his  discourses  present.  He  is  a  man  of  great  energy  of  temperament, 
fervently  opposed  to  every  form  of  oppression  and  injustice,  and  with  a  poet's 
love  of  nature.  His  style  is  rich,  glowing,  and  exuberant.  The  following  ex- 
tract is  from  the  "  Star  Papers,"  a  volume  made  up  of  papers  which  originally 
appeared  in  the  "  New  York  Independent."] 

Once  more  I  am  upon  this  serene  hill- top !  The  air  is 
very  clear,  very  still,  and  very  solemn  or,  rather,  tenderly 
sad,  in  its  serene  brightness.  It  is  not  that  moist  spring 
air,  full  of  the  smell  of  wood,  of  the  soil,  and  of  the  odor 
5  of  vegetation,  which  warm  winds  bring  to  us  from  the 
south.  It  is  not  that  summer  atmosphere,  full  of  alter- 
nations of  haze  and  fervent  clearness,  as  if  Nature  were 
calling  into  life  every  day  some  influence  for  its  myriad 
children ;  sometimes  in  showers,  and  sometimes  with  coer- 
10  cive  heat  upon  root  and  leaf;  and,  like  a  universal  task- 
master, was  driving  up  the  hours  to  accomplish  the  labors 
of  the  year. 

No !    In  these  autumn  days  there  is  a  sense  of  leisure 


hillard's  sixth  eeader;  75] 

and  of  meditation.  The  sun  seems  to  look  down  upon  tlie 
labors  of  its  fiery  hands  with  complacency.  Be  satisfied, 
O  seasonable  Sun !  Thou  hast  shaped  an  ample  year,  and 
art  garnering  up  harvests  which  well  may  swell  thy  re- 
6  joicing  heart  with  gracious  gladness. 

One  who  breaks  ofi"  in  summer,  and  returns  in  autumn 
to  the  hills,  needs  almost  to  come  to  a  new  acquaintance 
with  the  most  familiar  things.  It  is  another  world  ;  or  it 
is  the  old  world  a-masquerading ;  and  you  halt,  like  one 

10  scrutinizing  a  disguised  friend,  between  the  obvious  dis- 
semblance and  the  subtile  likeness. 

Southward  of  our  front  door  there  stood  two  elms, 
leaning  their  branches  toward  each  other,  forming  a  glo- 
rious arch  of  green.     Now,   in  faint  yellow,  they  grow 

15  attenuated  and  seem  as  if  departing ;  they  are  losing  their 
leaves  and  fading  out  of  sight,  as  trees  do  in  twilight. 
Yonder,  over  against  that  young  growth  of  birch  and  ever- 
green, stood,  all  summer  long,  a  perfect  maple-tree,  rounded 
out  on  every  side,  thick  with  luxuriant  foliage,  and  dark 

20  with  greenness,  save  when  the  morning  sun,  streaming 
through  it,  sent  transparency  to  its  very  heart.  Now  it 
is  a  tower  of  gorgeous  red.  So  sober  and  solemn  did  it 
seem  all  summer,  that  I  should  think  as  soon  to  see  a 
prophet  dancing  at  a  peasant's  holiday,  as  it  transfigured 

25  to  such  intense  gayety !  Its  fellows,  too,  the  birches  and 
the  walnuts,  burn  from  head  to  foot  with  fires  that  glow 
but  never  consume. 

But  these  holiday  hills !  Have  the  evening  clouds, 
sufiiised  with  sunset,  dropped  down  and  become  fixed  into 

30  solid  forms?  Have  the  rainbows  that  followed  autumn 
storms  faded  upon  the  mountains  and  left  their  mantles 
there  ?  Yet,  with  all  their  brilliancy,  how  modest  do  they 
seem ;  how  patient  when  bare,  or  burdened  with  winter ; 
how  cheerful  when  flushed  with  summer-green ;  and  how 

35  modest  when  they  lift  up  their  wreathed  and  crowned 
heads  in  the  resplendent  days  of  autumn ! 


76  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

I  stand  alone  upon  the  peaceful  summit  of  this  hill,  and 
turn  in  every  direction.  The  east  is  all  a-glow ;  the  blue 
north  flushes  all  her  hills  with  radiance ;  the  west  stands 
in  burnished  armor ;  the  southern  hills  buckle  the  zone  of 
6  the  horizon  together  with  emeralds  and  rubies,  such  as 
were  never  set  in  the  fabled  girdle  of  the  gods  !  Of  gazing 
there  cannot  be  enough.  The  hunger  of  the  eye  grows 
by  feeding. 

Only  the  brotherhood  of  evergreens — the  pine,  the  cedar, 

10  the  spruce,  and  the  hemlock  —  refuse  to  join  this  universal 
revel.  They  wear  their  sober  green  through  autumn  and 
winter,  as  if  they  were  set  to  keep  open  the  path  of  sum- 
mer through  the  whole  year,  and  girdle  all  seasons  to- 
gether with  a  clasp  of  endless  green.     But  in  vain  do  they 

1 5  give  solemn  examples  to  the  merry  leaves  which  frolic  with 
every  breeze  that  runs  sweet  riot  in  the  glowing  shades. . 
Gay  leaves  will  not  be  counselled,  but  will  die  bright  and 
laughing.  But  both  together  —  the  transfigured  leaves  of 
deciduous  trees  and  the  calm  unchangeableness  of  ever- 

20  greens  —  how  more  beautiful  are  they  than  either  alone  ! 
The  solemn  pine  brings  color  to  the  cheek  of  the  beeches, 
and  the  scarlet  and  golden  maples  rest  gracefully  upon  the 
dark  foliage  of  the  million-fingered  pine. 

Lifted  far  above  all  harm  of  fowler  or  impediment  of 

25  mountain,  wild  fowl  are  steadily  flying  southward.  The 
simple  sight  of  them  fills  the  imagination  with  pictures. 
They  have  all  summer  long  called  to  each  other  from  the 
reedy  fens  and  wild  oat-fields  of  the  far  north.  Summer 
is  already  extinguished  there.     AVinter  is  following  their 

SO  track,  and  marching  steadily  toward  us.  The  spent  flowers, 
the  seared  leaves,  the  thinning  tree-tops,  the  morning 
frost,  have  borne  witness  of  a  change  on  earth ;  and  these 
caravans  of  the  upper  air  confirm  the  tidings.  Summer  is 
gone ;  winter  is  coming  ! 

35  The  wind  has  risen  to-day.  It  is  not  one  of  those  gusty, 
playful  winds,  that  frolic  with  the  trees.     It  is  a  wind 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  77 

high  up  in  air,  that  moves  steadily,  with  a  solemn  sound, 
as  if  it  were  the  spirit  of  summer  journeying  past  us; 
and,  impatient  of  delay,  it  does  not  stoop  to  the  earth,  but 
touches  the  tops  of  the  trees,  with  a  murmuring  sound, 
5  sighing  a  sad  farewell,  and  passing  on. 

Such  days  fill  one  with  pleasant  sadness.  How  sweet  a 
pleasure  is  there  in  sadness  !  It  is  not  sorrow ;  it  is  not 
despondency ;  it  is  not  gloom !  It  is  one  of  the  moods  of 
joy.     At  any  rate  I  am  very  happy,  and  yet  it  is  sober, 

10  and  very  sad  happiness.  It  is  the  shadow  of  joy  upon 
the  soul !  I  can  reason  about  these  changes.  I  can  cover 
over  the  dying  leaves  with  imaginations  as  bright  as  their 
own  hues ;  and,  by  Christian  faith,  transfigure  the  whole^ 
scene  with  a  blessed  vision  of  joyous  dying  and  glorious 

15  resurrection.  But  what  then  ?  Such  thoughts  glow  like 
evening  clouds,  and  not  far  beneath  them  are  the  evening 
twilights,  into  whose  dusk  they  will  soon  melt  away.  And 
all  communions,  and  all  admirations,  and  all  associations, 
celestial  or  terrene,  come  alike  into  a  pensive  sadness,  that 

20  is  even  sweeter  than  our  joy.  It  is  the  minor  key  of  the 
thoughts. 


XXIIL  — THE    DEACON'S    MASTEEPIECE;    OK   THE 
WONDEEFUL    -  ONE-HOESE   SHAY." 

A  LOGICAL  STORY. 
Holmes. 

[Oliver  Wexdell  Holmes,  31.  D.,  was  born  in  Cambridge,  Massachu- 
setts, August  29,  1809,  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1829,  and  com- 
menced the  practice  of  medicine  in  Boston  in  183f).  He  has  been  for  many 
years  one  of  the  professors  in  the  medical  departmentof  Harvard  College,  and 
he  is  understood  to  be  highly  skilful  both  in  tlie  tlioory  and  practice  of  his  pro- 
fession. He  began  to  write  poetry  at  quite  an  early  age.  His  longest  produc- 
tions are  occasional  poems  which  have  been  recited  before  literary  societies, 
and  received  with  very  great  favor.  His  style  is  brilliant,  sparkling,  and  terse  ; 
and  many  of  his  heroic  stanzas  remind  us  of  the  point  and  condensation  of 
Pope.  In  his  shorter  poems,  he  is  sometimes  grave,  and  sometimes  gay. 
YThen  in  the  former  mood,  he  charms  us  by  his  truth  and  manliness  of  feeling, 
and  his  sweetness  of  sentiment ;  when  ia  the  latter,  he  delights  us  with  the 
7* 


78  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

glance  and  play  of  the  wildest  wit  and  the  richest  humor.  Everything  that  he 
writes  is  carefully  finished,  and  rests  on  a  basis  of  sound  sense  and  shrewd 
observation.  Dr.  Holmes  also  enjoys  high  reputation  and  wide  popularity  as 
a  prose  writer.  He  is  the  author  of  "  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table," 
*'  The  Professor  at  the  Breakfast  Table,"  and  "  Elsie  Veuner,"  works  of  fiction 
which  originally  appeared  in  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly  Magazine,"  and  of  various 
occasional  discourses. 

This  poem  is  illustrative  of  New  England  character,  and  the  words  italicized 
are  spelt  in  such  a  way  as  to  indicate  certain  peculiarities  of  pronunciation 
BOmetimes  heard  among  the  uneducated,  in  New  England.] 


Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shat/t 
That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 
It  run  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 
And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it —  ah,  hut  stay, 
I  '11  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay : 
Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 
Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits,  — 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five : 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive,  — 
Snufiy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  "so  brown. 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown,  — 
It  was  on  the  terrible  Earthquake-day, 
That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 

Now,  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 

There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot,  — 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 

In  panel  or  crossbar,  or  floor  or  sill, 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace,  —  lurking  still. 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will,  — 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without. 

And  that' s  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 

A  chaise  breaks  down,  but  does  n't  wear  out. 


m^;'t^^fi< 


t:^,.i$/ 


hillard's  sixth  rea 


But  the  Deacon  swore,  (as  deacons  do, 
With  an  "I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "I  tell  yeou") 
He  would  build  one  shai/  to  beat  the  taown 
'w'  the  keounty  ^ipl  all  the  henti-y  raourC  ; 
It  should  be  so  built  that  it  could  rC  break  daown; 
—  ''Fur,''  said  the  Deacon,  **  7's  mighty  plain 
That  the  weahei  place  mus'  starC  the  strain  ; 
'w'  the  way  t'  jix  it,  uz,  I  maintain, 

Is  oroS.-^  jest 
T'  make  that  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 
^  \^ 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

"Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  could  n't  be  split,  nor  bent,  nor  broke,  — 

That  was  for  spokes,  and  floor,  and  sills  ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; 

The  crossbars  were  ash  from  the  straightest  trees ; 

The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese. 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these ; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  Settler's  ellum,"  — 

Last  of  its  timber,  — they  couldn't  sell  'em; 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips. 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery  tips ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too. 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue ; 

Thoroughbrace,  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide ; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

round  in  the  pit  where  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through." 

"  There !  "  said  the  Deacon,  **  naow  she  HI  dew!  " 

Do  !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less ! 


so  hillard's  sixth  keadek. 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray,  — 
Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away ; 
Children  and  grandchildren  —  where  were  they  ? 
But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay  / 

7  Eighteen  hundred ;  —  it  came  and  found 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten  ;  — 
**Ifahnsum  kerridffe,"  they  called  it  then. 
Eighteen  and  twenty  came  ;  — 

Bunning  as  usual ;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  come  fifty  and  fifty-five. 

8  Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year, 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there 's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large ; 

Take  it.  —  You  're  welcome.  —  No  extra  charge.) 

9  First  of  November,  —  the  Earthquake-day,  — 
There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss  shay^ 
A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 
There  could  n't  be,  for  the  Deacon's  art 
Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 
That  there  was  n't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 
Eor  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 
And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 
And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 
And  the  whipplctree  neither  less  nor  more. 
And  the  back  crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore. 
And  the  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  81 

And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 
In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out ! 

10  First  of  November,  fifty-five  ! 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 
Now,  sm^ll  boys,  get  out  of  the  way ! 
Here  comes  the  -wonderful  one-hoss  skai/. 
Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 
''Huddup!  "  said  the  parson.  —  Ofi"  went  they. 

11  The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text,  — 
Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 

At  what  the  —  Moses  —  was  coming  next. 
All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 
Close  by  the  meet rH -house  on  the  hill. 

—  First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 
Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill,  — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock. 

At  half-past  nine  by  the  meet' n' -hoiLse  clocky  — 
Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake  shock ! 

—  What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 
The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground ! 
You  see,  of  course,  if  you  're  not  a  dunce, 
How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once,  — 

All  at  once,  and  nothing  first,  — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 


12     End  of  the  wonderful  onQ-hoss  shay : 
Logic  is  logic— That 's  all  I  say. 


/ 


82  HILLARD'S  sixth  REi^DER. 

XXIV. —  THE   Pe'aIKIES. 

Anonymous. 
The  attraction  of  the  prairie 'consists  in  its  extent,  its 
carpet  of  verdure  and  flowers,  its  undulating  surface,  its 
groves,  and  the  fringe  of  timber  by  wbick  it  is  surrounded. 
Of  all  these,  the  latter  is  the  mo^t  expressive  feature  ;  it 
5  is  that  which  gives  character  to  the  landscape,  which  im- 
parts the  shape  and  marks  the  boundary  of  the  plain.  If 
the  prairie  be  small,  its  greatest  beauty  consists  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  surrounding  margin  of  woodland,  which 
resembles  the  shore  of  a  lake,  indented  with  deep  vistas, 

10  like  bays  and  inlets,  and  throwing  out  long  points,  like 
capes  and  headlands ;  while  occasionally  these  points 
approach  so  closely  on  either  hand,  that  the  traveller 
passes  through  a  narrow  avenue  or  strait,  where  the 
shadows  of  the  woodland  fall  upon  his  path,  and  then 

15  emerges  again  into  another  prairie. 

Where  the  plain  is  large,  the  forest  outline  is  seen  in  the 
far  perspective,  like  the  dim  shore,  when  beheld  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  ocean.  The  eye  sometimes  roams  over  the 
green  meadow,  without  discovering  a  tree,  a  shrub,  or  any 

20  object  in  the  immense  expanse,  but  the  wilderness  of  grass 
and  flowers ;  while  at  another  time,  the  prospect  is  en- 
livened by  the  groves,  which  are  seen  interspersed  like 
islands,  or  the  solitary  tree  which  stands  alone  in  the 
blooming  desert. 

25  If  it  be  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  and  the  young  grass 
has  just  covered  the  ground  with  a  carpet  of  delicate 
green,  and  especially  if  the  sun  is  rising  from  behind  a 
distant  swell  of  the  plain,  and  glittering  upon  the  dew- 
drops,  no  scene  can  be  more  lovely  to  the  eye.     The  deer 

30  is  seen  grazing  quietly  upon  the  plain  ;  the  bee  is  on  the 
wing  ,•  the  wolf,  with  his  tail  dropped,  is  sneaking  away 
to  his  covert,  with  the  felon  tread  of  one  who  is  conscious 
that  he  has  disturbed  the  peace  of  nature  ;  and  the  grouse, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  83 

feeding  in  flocks,  or  in  pairs,  like  the  domestic  fowl,  cover 
the  whole  surface  —  the  males  strutting  and  erecting  their 
plumage  like  the  peacock,  and  uttering  a  long,  loud, 
mournful  note,  something  like  the  cooing  of  the  dove,  but 
5  resembling  still  more  the  sound  produced  by  passing  a 
rough  finger  boldly  over  the  surface  of  a  tambourine. 

When  the  eye  roves  off  from  the  green  plain  to  the 
groves  or  points  of  timber,  these  are  also  found  to  be  at 
this  season  robed  in  the  most  attractive  hues.     The  rich 

10  undergrowth  is  in  full  bloom.  The  red-bud,  the  dog- 
wood, the  crab-apple,  the  wild  plum,  the  cherry,  the  wild 
rose,  are  abundant  in  all  the  rich  lands ;  and  the  grape- 
vine, although  its  bloaeom  is  unseen,  fills  the  air  with  fra- 
grance.   The  variety  of  the  wild  fruit  and  flowering  shrubs 

15  is  so  great,  and  such  the  profusion  of  the  blossoms  with 
which  they  are  bowed  down,  that  the  eye  is  regaled  al- 
most to  satiety.  ^ 

The  gayety  of  the  prairie,  its  embellishments,  and  the 
absence  of  the  gloom  and  savage  wildness  of  the  forest, 

20  all  contribute  to  dispel  the  feeling  of  lonesomeness,  which 
usually  creeps  over  the  mind  of  the  solitary  traveller  in 
the  wilderness.  Though  one  may  see  neither  a  house  nor 
a  human  being,  and  is  conscious  that  he  is  far  from  the 
habitations  of  man,  he  can  scarcely  divest  himself  of  the 

25  idea  that  he  is  travelling  through  scenes  embellished  by 
the  hand  of  art.  The  flowers  —  so  fragile,  so  delicate, 
and  so  ornamental  —  seem  to  have  been  tastefully  disposed 
to  adorn  the  scene.  The  groves  and  clumps  of  trees  seem 
to  have  been  scattered  over  the  lawn  to  beautify  the  land- 

30  scape,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  avoid  the  illusion  of  the  fancy 
which  persuades  the  beholder  that  such  scenery  has  been 
created  to  gratify  the  refined  taste  of  civilized  man. 
Europeans  are  often  reminded  of  the  resemblance  of  this 
scenery  to  that  of  the  extensive  parks  of  noblemen,  which 

35  they  have  been  accustomed  to  admire  in  the  old  world. 
The  lawn,  the  avenue,  the  grove,  the  copse,  which  are 


84  hillakd's  sixth  header. 

there  produced  by  art,  are  here  prepared  by  nature ;  a 
splendid  specimen  of  massy  architecture  and  the  distant 
view  of  villages  are  alone  wanting  to  make  the  similitude 
complete. 
5  In  the  summer,  the  prairie  is  covered  with  a  long, 
coarse  grass,  which  soon  assumes  a  golden  hue,  and  waves 
in  the  wind  like  a  ripe  harvest.  The  first  coat  of  grass  is 
mingled  with  small  flowers  —  the  violet,  the  bloom  of  the 
strawberry,  and  others  of  the  most  minute  and  delicate 

10  texture.     As  the  grass  increases  in  size,  these  disappear, 

and  others,  taller  and  more  gaudy,  display  their  brilliant 

colors  upon  the  green  surface ;  and  still  later,  a  larger  and 

coarser  succession  rises  with  the  rising  tide  of  verdure. 

A  fanciful  writer  asserts  that  the  prevalent  color  of 

15  the  prairie  flowers  is,  in  the  spring,  a  bluish  purple ;  in 
midsummer,  red  ;  and  in  the  autumn,  yellow.  This  is  one 
of  the  notions  that  people  get,  who  study  nature  by  the 
fireside.  The  truth  is,  that  the  whole  of  the  surface  of 
these  beautiful  plains  is  clad  throughout  the  season  of 

20  verdure  with  every  imaginable  variety  of  color,  "from 
grave  to  gay."  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  infi- 
nite diversity,  or  a  richer  profusion  of  hues,  or  to  detect 
any  predominating  tint,  except  the  green,  which  forms  the 
beautiful  ground,  and  relieves  the  exquisite  brilliancy  of 

25  all  the  others.  The  only  changes  of  color,  observed  at 
the  difi'erent  seasons,  arise  from  the  circumstance,  that  in 
the  spring  the  flowers  are  small,  and  the  colors  delicate ; 
as  the  heat  becomes  more  ardent,  a  hardier  race  appears  ; 
the  flowers  attain  a  greater  size,  and  the  hue  deepens ; 

30  and  still  later,  a  succession  of  still  coarser  plants  rises 
above  the  tall  grass,  throwing  out  larger  and  gaudier 
flowers. 

In  the  winter  the  prairies  present  a  gloomy  and  deso- 
late appearance.     The  fire  has  passed  over  them,  consum- 

35  ing  every  vegetable  substance,  and  leaving  the  soil  bare, 
and  the  surface  perfectly  blank.     That  gracefully -waving 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  85 

outline,  so  attractive  to  the  eye  when  clad  in  green,  is  now 
disrobed  of  all  its  ornaments  ;  its  fragrance,  its  notes  of 
joy,  and  the  graces  of  its  landscape  have  all  vanished, 
while  the  bosom  of  the  cold  earth,  scorched  and  discolored, 
6  is  alone  visible.  There  is  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  cold, 
dead  earth  and  the  bare  mound,  which  move  not;  and 
the  traveller,  with  a  strange  sensation,  feels  the  blast 
rushing  over  him,  while  not  an  object  visible  to  the  eye  is 
seen  to  stir.  Accustomed  as  the  mind  is  to  associate  with 
10  the  action  of  the  wind  its  operation  upon  surrounding 
objects,  there  is  a  novel  effect  produced  on  the  mind  of 
one  who  feels  the  current  of  air  rolling  heavily  over  him, 
while  nothing  moves  around. 


XXV.  — HELYELLYN. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


[This  poem  commemorates  the  fate  of  Mr.  Charles  Gough,  a  young  maiv 
who,  in  the  spring  of  1805,  attempting  to  cross  the  Helvellyn,  a  mountain  in 
Cumberland,  England,  to  Grasmere,  slipped  from  a  steep  part  of  the  rock, 
where  the  ice  was  not  thawed,  and  perished.  His  remains  were  not  dis- 
covered till  three  months  afterwards,  when  they  were  found  guarded  by 
his  dog.] 

1     I  CLIMBED  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Helvellyn ; 

Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleamed  misty  and 
wide; 
All  was  still,  save  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was  yelling, 

And,  starting  around  me,  the  echoes  replied ; 
On  the  right,  Striden-edge "  round  the  Eed-tarn=-'-=  was 

bending, 
And  Catchedicam"  its  left  verge  was  defending. 
One  huge,  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending. 
When  I  marked  the  sad  spot  where  the  wanderer  had 
died. 

*  Striden-edge  and  Catchedicam  are  subordinate  peaks  of  Helvellyn.  The 
Bed-taru  is  the  name  of  a  mountain  lake. 


86  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

2  Dark  green  was  that   spot  'mid  the  ]brown   mountain 

heather,  ^  v^*^  -J^'K^r'lI^iH^T-' 

Where  the  pilgrim  of  nature  lay  stretched  in  decay, 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandoned  to  weather, 

Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenantless  clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended, 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favorite  attended, 
The  much-loved  remains  of  her  master  defended, 
And  chased  the  hill-fox  and  the  raven  away. 

3  ■  How  long  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence  was  slumber? 

When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft  didst  thou 
start?         V>>^.  rl'  ■     ' .  .  ■.:'■- •■■v  • 

How  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst  thou  number, 

Ere  he  faded  before  thee,  the  friend  of  thy  heart  ? 
And,  oh,  was  it  meet  that,  —  no  requiem  read  o'er  him, 
No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him. 
And  thou,  little  guardian,  alone  stretched  before  him,  — 

Unhonored  the  pilgrim  from  life  should  depart  ? 

4  When  a  prince  to  the  fate  of  the  peasant  has  yielded. 

The  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim-lighted  hall ; 
With  scutcheons  of  silver  the  coffin  is  shielded. 

And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall: 
Through  the  courts,  at  deep  midnight,  the  torches  are 

gleaming ; 
In  the  proudly-arched  chapel  the  banners  are  beaming ; 
Tar  adown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming, 

Lamenting  a  chief  of  the  people  should  fall. 

5  But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature. 

To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain  lamb, 
When,   'wildered,    he   drops   from   some   cliff   huge   in 
stature. 

And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch,  by  this  desert  lake  lying, 


mmLaed's  sixth  reader  .  87 

Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gray  plover  flying, 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying, 
In  the  arms  of  Helvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 


XXVL  — THE   CAPTIVE.^ 

/"  ■  •       -■;  '  "'^  -       Stebne.  \  ■■■»•"'' -^ "  "^  ■ 

[Laurence  Sterne  was  bom  in  Clonmell,  Ireland,  November  24, 1713,  and 
died  in  London,  March  18,  1768.  He  was  educated  at  the  university  of  Cam- 
bridge, became  a  clergyman  of  the  church  of  England,  and  in  that  capacity 
resided  for  many  years  in  Sutton,  in  Yorkshire.  He  was  the  author  of  "  Tris- 
tram Shandy,"  a  novel ;  "  A  Sentimental  Journey  through  France  and  Italy ; " 
and  of  several  published  sermons.  He  was  a  man  of  peculiar  and  original  genius, 
i-emarkable  alike  for  pathos  and  humor,  and  with  an  unrivalled  power  of 
giving  truth  and  consistency  to  characters  marked  by  whims  and  oddities. 
"  Tristram  Shandy,"  his  principal  story,  has  little  or  no  story,  and  fails  in  inter- 
est as  a  continuous  narrative ;  but  the  personages  are  admirably  drawn,  and  it 
abounds  with  exquisite  scenes  and  sketches.  His  writings  are  defaced  by 
grave  offences  against  decorum,  his  style  is  deficient  in  simplicity,  and  his 
sentimentality  is  often  exaggerated  and  mawkish ;  but  in  his  airy,  fantastic,  and 
indescribable  humor,  there  is  a  grace  and  life  over  which  time  has  no  power. 
Few  persons  now  read  Sterne  as  a  whole,  and  yet  few  writers  are  better 
known,  such  is  the  enduring  popularity  of  portions  of  his  writings,  such  aa 
the  story  of  Le  Fevre,  from  "  Tristram  Shandy,"  and  the  following  sketch 
from  the  "  Sentimental  Journey."] 

And  as  for  the  Bastile ! "  the  terror  is  in  the  word.  Make 
the  most  of  it  you  can,  said  I  to  myself,  the  Bastile  is 
but  another  word  for  a  tower,  and  a  tower  is  but  another 
word  for  a  house  you  cannot  get  out  of.  Mercy  on  the 
5  gouty !  for  they  are  in  it  twice  a  year  —  but,  with  nine 
livres  a  day,  and  pen  and  ink  and  paper  and  patience, 
albeit  a  man  cannot  get  out,  he  may  do  very  well  within, 
—  at  least  for  a  month  or  six  weeks ;  at  the  end  of  which, 
if  he  is  a  harmless  fellow,  his  innocence  appears,  and  he 
10  comes  out  a  better  and  a  wiser  man  than  he  went  in. 

.  I  had  some  occasion  (I  forget  what)  to  step  into  the 
court-yard,  as  I  settled  this  account;    and   remember  I 

♦The  Bastile  was  a  building  in  Paris,  originally  a  royal  castle,  and  after- 
wards used  as  a  state  prison.  It  was  destroyed  by  the  populace  July  14, 1789, 
and  thus  was  commenced  the  French  Revolution. 


88  iiillard's  sixth  reader. 

walked  down  stairs  in  no  small  triumph  with  the  conceit 
of  my  reasoning.  Beshrew  the  sombre  pencil !  said  I,  Taunt- 
ingly, for  I  envy  not  its  power,  which  paints  the  evils  of 
life  with  so  hard  and  deadly  a  coloring.  The  mind  sits 
5  terrified  at  the  objects  she  has  magnified  herself,  and 
blackened :  reduce  them  to  their  proper  size  and  hue,  she 
overlooks  them.  It  is  true,  said  I,  correcting  the  proposi- 
tion ;  the  Bastile  is  not  an  evil  to  be  despised ;  but  strip  it 
of  its  towers — fill  up  the  fosse — unbarricade  the  doors  — 

10  call  it  simply  a  confinement,  and  suppose  it  some  tyrant  of 
a  distemper  —  and  not  of  a  man  —  which  holds  you  in  it, 
the  evil  vanishes,  and  you  bear  the  other  half  without 
complaint. 

I  was  interrupted  in  the  heyday  of  this  soliloquy,  with 

15  a  voice  which  I  took  to  be  of  a  child,  which  complained 
"  it  could  not  get  out."  I  looked  up  and  down  the  passage, 
and  seeing  neither  man,  woman,  or  child,  I  went  out  with- 
out farther  attention. 

In  my  return  back  through  the  passage,  I  heard  the 

20  same  words  repeated  twice  over ;  and  looking  up,  I  saw  it 
was  a  starling  hung  in  a  little  cage.  "  I  can't  get  out — 
I  can't  get  out,"  said  the  starling. 

I  stood  looking  at  the  bird :  and  to  every  person  who 
came  through  the  passage,  it  ran  fluttering  to  the  side 

25  towards  which  they  approached  it,  with  the  same  lamenta- 
tion of  its  captivity.  "  I  can't  get  out,"  said  the  starling. 
God  help  thee  !  said  I ;  but  I  will  let  thee  out,  cost  what 
it  will ;  so  I  turned  about  the  cage,  to  get  the  door ;  it  was 
twisted,  and  double  twisted  so  fast  with  wire,  there  was  no 

30  getting  it  open  without  pulling  the  cage  to  pieces.  I  took 
both  hands  to  it. 

The  bird  flew  to  the  place  where  I  was  attempting  his 
deliverance,  and  thrusting  his  head  through  the  trellis, 
pressed  his  breast  against  it,  as  if  impatient.     I  fear,  poor 

B5  creature!  said  I,  I  cannot  set  thee  at  liberty.  *'  No,"  said 
theetarling — "I  can't  get  out — 1  can't  get  out" 


%- 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  89 


'^  A  -^  I  never  had  my  affections  more  tenderly  awakened  ;  nor 
)  do  I  remember  an  incident  in  my  life,  where  the  dissipated 
spirits,  to  which  my  reason  had  been  a  bubble,  were  so 
suddenly  called  home.  Mechanical  as  the  notes  were,  yet 
5  so  true  in  tune  to  nature  were  they  chanted,  that  in  one 
moment  they  overthrew  all  my  systematic  reasonings  upon 
the  Bastile;  and  I  heavily  walked  up  stairs,  unsaying 
every  word  I  had  said  in  going  down  them. 

Disguise  thyself  as  thou  wilt,  still,  Slavery  !  said  I  — 

10  still  thou  art  a  bitter  draught ;  and  though  thousands  in 
all  ages  have  been  made  to  drink  of  thee,  thou  art  no  less 
bitter  on  that  account.  It  is  thou,  thrice  sweet  and  gra- 
cious goddess,  addressing  myself  to  Liberty,  whom  all,  in 
public  or  in  private,  worship,  whose  taste  is  grateful,  and 

15  ever  will  be  so,  till  Nature  herself  shall  change — no  tint 
of  words  can  spot  thy  snowy  mantle,  or  chymic  power  turn 
thy  sceptre  into  iron  —  with  thee  to  smile  upon  him  as  he 
eats  his  crust,  the  swain  is  happier  than  his  monarch,  from 
whose  court  thou  art  exiled.     Gracious  heaven !  cried  I, 

20  kneeling  down  upon  the  last  step  but  one  in  my  ascent  — ■ 
grant  me  but  health,  thou  great  Bestower  of  it ;  and  give 
me  but  this  fair  goddess  as  my  companion  —  and  shower 
down  thy  mitres,  if  it  seems  good  unto  thy  divine  provi- 
dence, upon  those  heads  which  are  aching  for  them. 

25  The  bird  in  his  cage  pursued  me  into  my  room  ;  I  sat 
down  close  to  my  table,  and  leaning  my  head  upon  my 
hand,  I  began  to  figure  to  myself  the  miseries  of  confine- 
ment. I  was  in  a  right  frame  for  it,  and  so  I  gave  full 
scope  to  my  imagination. 

30  I  was  going  to  begin  with  the  millions  of  my  fellow- 
creatures  born  to  no  inheritance  but  slavery  ;  but  finding, 
however  affecting  the  picture  was,  that  I  could  not  bring 
it  near  me,  and  that  the  multitudes  of  sad  groups  in  it  did 
but  distract  me  —  I  took  a  single  captive,  and  having  first 

35  shut  him  up  in  his  dungeon,  I  then  looked  through  the 
twilight  of  his  grated  door  to  take  his  picture. 
8* 


90  hillard's  sixth  reader, 

I  beheld  his  body  half  wasted  away  with  long  expecta- 
tion and  confinement,  and  felt  what  kind  of  sickness  of  the 
heart  it  was  which  arises  from  hope  deferred.  Upon  look- 
ing nearer,  I  saw  him  pale  and  feverish ;  in  thirty  years 
5  the  western  breeze  had  not  once  fanned  his  blood — he  had 
seen  no  sun,  no  moon  in  all  that  time  —  nor  had  the  voice 
of  friend  or  kinsman  breathed  through  his  lattice:  — his 
children  —  But  here  my  heart  began  to  bleed,  and  I  was 
forced  to  go  on  with  another  part  of  the  portrait. 

10  He  was  sitting  upon  the  ground  upon  a  little  straw,  in 
the  farthest  comer  of  his  dungeon,  which  was  alternately 
his  chair  and  bed ;  a  little  calendar  of  small  sticks  were 
laid  at  his  bed,  notched  all  over  with  the  dismal  days  and 
nights  he  had  passed  there  —  he  had  one  of  these  little 

15  sticks  in  his  hand,  and  with  a  rusty  nail  he  was  etching 
another  day  of  misery  to  add  to  the  heap.  As  I  darkened 
the  little  light  he  had,  he  lifted  up  a  hopeless  eye  towards 
the  door,  then  cast  it  down,  shook  his  head,  and  went  on 
with  his  work  of  affliction.     I  heard  his  chains  upon  his 

20  legs,  as  he  turned  his  body  to  lay  his  little  stick  upon  the 
bundle.  He  gave  a  deep  sigh  —  I  saw  the  iron  enter  into 
his  soul  — I  burst  into  tears  —  I  could  not  sustain  the 
picture  of  confinement  which  my  fancy  had  drawn. 


XXVII.  — CHAKACTER  OF  SAMUEL  ADAMS. 

Tudor. 

[WiLLix\M  Tudor  was  born  in  Boston,  January  28,  1779,  and  died  in  Rio 
Janeiro,  Marcli  9, 1830.  He  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1790.  He  was 
tlie  author  of  "  Letters  on  the  Eastern  States,"  a  "  Life  of  James  Otis,"  and  a 
volume  of  "  Miscellanies,"  and  contributed  many  articles  to  the  "  Monthly  An- 
thology," and  the  "  North  American  Review  "  of  which  latter  he  was  the  lirst 
editor.  He  was  charge  d'affaires  for  the  United  States,  in  Brazil,  at  the  time 
of  his  death.  An  anonymous  work  published  in  1829,  called  "  Gebel  Teir,"  was 
by  him.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Boston  Athenaeum,  and  to  him  the 
country  is  indebted  for  the  first  suggestion  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument.  He 
was  a  correct  and  scholarly  writer,  and  a  most  estimable  and  amiable  man. 

The  following  extract  is  from  the  "  Life  of  Jamee  Otis."] 


J  *%x 


#s!<S 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  9i 


Mr.  Adams  was  one  of  that  class  who  saw  very  early, 
that,  ''after  all,  we  must  fight"  —  and  having  come  to 
that  conclusion,  there  was  no  citizen  more  prepared  for  the 
extremity,  or  who  would  have  been  more  reluctant  to  enter 
5  into  any  kind  of  compromise.  After  he  had  received  warn- 
ing, at  Lexington,  in  the  night  of  the  18th  of  April,  of 
the  intended  British  expedition,  as  he  proceeded  to  make 
his  escape  through  the  fields  with  some  friends,  soon  after 
the  dawn  of  day,  he  exclaimed,    "this  is  a  fine  day." 

10  "  Very  pleasant,  indeed,"  answered  one  of  his  companions, 
supposing  he  alluded  to  the  beauty  of  the  sky  and  atmos- 
phere. "  I  mean,"  he  replied,  "  this  day  is  a  glorious  day 
for  America !  "  His  situation  at  that  moment  was  full  of 
peril  and  uncertainty;  but  throughout  the  contest,   no 

15  damage  either  to  himself  or  his  country  ever  discouraged 
or  depressed  him. 

The  very  faults  of  his  character  tended,  in  some  degree, 
to  render  his  services  more  useful,  by  converging  his  exer- 
tions to  one  point,  and  preventing  their  being  weakened  by 

20  indulgence  or  liberality  towards  difi'erent  opinions.  There 
was  some  tinge  of  bigotry  and  narrowness,  both  in  his 
religion  and  politics.  He  was  a  strict  Calvinist ;  and  prob- 
ably no  individual  of  his  day  had  so  much  of  the  feelings 
of  the  ancient  puritans,  as  he  possessed.     In  politics,  he 

25  was  so  jealous  of  delegated  power,  that  he  would  not  have 
given  our  Constitutions  inherent  force  enough  for  their  own 
preservation.  He  attached  an  exclusive  value  to  the  habits 
and  principles  in  which  he  had  been  educated,  and  wished 
to  adjust  wide  concerns  too  closely  after  a  particular  model. 

30  One  of  his  colleagues,  who  knew  him  well,  and  estimated 
him  highly,  described  him  with  good-natured  exaggeration 
in  the  following  manner:  "  Samuel  Adams  would  have  the 
state  of  Massachusetts  govern  the  Union,  the  town  of 
Boston  govern  JMassachusetts,  and  that  he  should  govern 

35  the  town  of  Boston,  and  then  the  whole  would  not  be  in- 
tentionally ill-governed." 


92  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

He  possessed  an  energy  of  will  that  never  faltered,  in 
the  purpose  of  counteracting  the  arbitrary  plans  of  the 
English  cabinet,  and  which  gradually  engaged  him  to  strive 
for  the  independence  of  the  country.  Every  part  of  his 
6  character  conduced  to  this  determination.  His  private 
habits,  which  were  simple,  frugal,  and  unostentatious,  led 
him  to  despise  the  luxury  and  parade  affected  by  the  crown 
officers ;  his  religious  tenets,  which  made  him  loathe  the 
very  name  of  the  English  church,  preserved  in  his  mind 

10  the  memory  of  ancient  persecutions,  as  vividly  as  if  they 
had  happened  yesterday,  and  as  anxiously,  as  if  they  might 
be  repeated  to-morrow ;  his  detestation  of  royalty  and  priv- 
ileged classes,  which  no  man  could  have  felt  more  deeply 
—  all  these  circumstances  stimulated  him  to  perseverance 

15  in  a  course  which  he  conscientiously  believed  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  pursue  for  the  welfare  of  his  country. 

He  combined,  in  a  remarkable  manner,  all  the  animosi- 
ties and  all  the  firmness,  that  could  qualify  a  man  to  be 
the  asserter  of  the  rights  of  the  people.     Had  he  lived  in 

20  any  country  or  any  epoch,  when  abuses  of  power  were  to 
be  resisted,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  reformers.  He 
would  have  suffered  excommunication  rather  than  have 
bowed  to  papal  infallibility,  or  paid  the  tribute  to  St.  Peter ; 
he  would  have  gone  to  the  stake,  rather  than  submit  to  the 

25  prelatic  ordinances  of  Laud ;  he  would  have  mounted  the 
scaffold,  sooner  than  pay  a  shilling  of  illegal  ship-money ; 
he  would  have  fled  to  a  desert  rather  than  endure  the  profli- 
gate tyranny  of  a  Stuart ;  he  was  proscribed,  and  would 

\     sooner  have  been  condemned  as  a  traitor,  than  assent  to  an 

36»^llegal  tax,  if  it  had  been  only  a  sixpenny  stamp  or  an 
^insignificant  duty  on  tea,   and  there   appeared  to  be  no 
species  of  corruption  by  which  this  inflexibility  could  have 
been  destroyed. 

The  motives  by  which  he  was  actuated  were  not  a  sud- 

35  den  ebullition  of  temper,  or  a  transient  impulse  of  resent- 
ment, but  they  were  deliberate,  methodical,  and  unyielding. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  93 

There  was  no  pause,  no  hesitation,  no  despondency ;  every 
day  and  every  hour  were  employed  in  some  contribution 
towards  the  main  design,  if  not  in  action,  in  writing ;  if 
not  with  the  pen,  in  conversation ;  if  not  in  talking,  in 
5  meditation.  The  means  he  advised  were  persuasion,  petition, 
remonstrance,  resolutions,  and  M^hen  all  failed,  defiance  and 
extermination  sooner  than  submission.  His  measures  for 
redress  were  all  legitimate ;  and  where  the  extremity  of 
the  case,  as  in  the  destruction  of  the  tea,  absolutely  re- 

10  quired  an  irregularity,  a  vigor  beyond  the  law,  he  was 
desirous  that  it  might  be  redeemed  by  the  discipline, 
good  order,  and  scrupulous  integrity  with  which  it  should 
be  effected. 

With  this  unrelenting  and  austere  spirit,  there  was  noth- 

15  ing  ferocious,  gloomy  or  arrogant  in  his  demeanor.  His 
aspect  was  mild,  dignified,  and  gentlemanly.  In  his  own 
state,  or  in  the  Congress  of  the  Union,  he  was  always  the 
advocate  of  the  strongest  measures;  and  in  the  darkest 
hour  he  never  wavered  or  desponded.     He  engaged  in  the 

20  cause  with  all  the  zeal  of  a  reformer,  the  confidence  of  an 
enthusiast,  and  the  cheerfulness  of  a  voluntary  martyr. 
It  was  not  by  brilliancy  of  talents,  or  profoundness  of 
learning,  that  he  rendered  such  essential  service  to  the 
cause  of  the  revolution,  but  by  his  resolute  decision,  his 

25  unceasing  watchfulness,  and  his  heroic  perseverance.  In 
addition  to  these  qualities,  his  efforts  were  consecrated  by 
his  entire  superiority  to  pecuniary  considerations  ;  he,  like 
most  of  his  colleagues,  proved  the  nobleness  of  their  cause, 
by  the  virtue  of  their  conduct ;  and  Samuel  Adams,  after 

30  being  so  many  years  in  the  public  service,  and  having  filled 
so  many  eminent  stations,  must  have  been  buried  at  the 
public  expense,  if  the  afflicting  death  of  an  only  son  had 
not  remedied  this  honorable  poverty. 


94  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

XXVIII.-— NAPOLEOFS  EETUKN. 

Miss  Wallace. 

[These  lines  commemorate  the  removal  of  the  remains  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte from  the  Island  of  St.  Helena  to  France  in  1840,  in  a  ship  of  war  com- 
manded by  the  Prince  de  Joinville,  a  son  of  Louis  Phillippe,  then  king  of 
France.  The  Champ  de  Mars  is  an  open  space  in  Paris,  used  for  military  re- 
views. Waterloo,  Austerlitz,  and  Lodi,  are  places  memorable  for  battles  in 
which  Napoleon  was  engaged.  The  Louvre  is  a  building  in  Paris,  mainly 
devoted  to  a  museum  of  works  of  art.  Versailles  is  a  town  near  Paris  where 
there  is  a  splendid  palace.  The  Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy,  still  preserved  at 
Monza,  near  Milan,  is  made  of  gold  and  adorned  with  jewels,  but  has  on  the 
inside  a  thin  plate  of  iron.  Napoleon,  as  king  of  Italy,  was  crowned  with  thia 
in  the  cathedral  of  Milan,  May  26,  1805.] 

1  A  BARK  has  left  the  sea-girt  isle, 

A  prince  is  at  the  helm, 
She  bears  the  exile  emperor  ' 

Back  to  his  ancient  realm. 
No  joyous  shout  bursts  from  her  crew, 

As  o'er  the  waves  they  dance, 
But  silently  through  foam  and  spray, 

Seek  they  the  shores  of  France. 

2  A  soldier  comes !    Haste,  comrades,  haste  I 

To  greet  him  on  the  strand ; 
'T  is  long  since  by  his  side  ye  fought 

For  Glory's  chosen  land  ; 
A  leader  comes !    Let  loud  huzzas 

Burst  from  the  extended  line. 
And  glancing  arms  and  helmets  raised 

In  martial  splendor  shine. 

3  A  conqueror  comes !    Fly,  Austrian  fly ! 

Before  his  awful  frown ; 
Kneel,  Lombard,  kneel !  that  pallid  brow 

Has  worn  the  Iron  Crown ! 
The  eagles  wave  !  the  trumpet  sounds ! 

Amid  the  cannon's  roar, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  95 

Ye  victors  of  a  hundred  fields, 
Surround  your  chief  once  more ! 

4  A  monarch  comes !    From  royal  arms 

Eemove  the  envious  rust ; 
A  monarch  comes !  the  triple  crown 

Is  freed  from  gathering  dust. 
Guard  him  not  to  the  halls  of  state, 

His  diadem  is  riven ; 
But  bear  him  where  yon  hallowed  spire 

Is  pointing  up  to  heaven : 
And  with  the  requiem's  plaintive  swell, 

With  dirge  and  solemn  prayer. 
Enter  the  marble  halls  of  death. 

And  throne  your  monarch  there  ! 

5  Napoleon  comes !    Go  speak  that  word 

At  midnight's  awful  hour, 
In  Champ  de  Mars,-'  will  it  not  prove 

A  spell  of  fearful  power  ? 
Will  not  a  shadowy  host  arise 

From  field  and  mountain  ridge. 
From  Waterloo,  from  Austerlitz, 

From  Lodi's  fatal  bridge. 
And  wheel  in  airy  echelon,  f 

From  pass,  and  height,  and  plain, 
To  form  upon  that  ancient  ground 

Their  scattered  ranks  again  ? 

6  Go  speak  it  in  the  Louvre's  |  halls, 

Mid  priceless  works  of  art. 
Will  not  each  life-like  figure  from 
The  glowing  canvas  start  ? 

*  Pronounced  Shiinh  de  Mar 

t  Pronounced  Eshelong.    A  military  term,  denoting  a  peculiar  formation  of 
troops  in  line  of  battle. 
X  Pronounced  Loovr, 


96 


Go  to  Versailles,  where  heroes  frown, 

And  monarchs  live,  in  stone. 
Across  those  chiselled  lips  will  not 

A  startling  murmur  run  ? 
No,  no,  the  marble  still  may  be 

Cold,  cold  and  silent  —  So  is  he. 
The  pencil's  living  hues  may  bloom, 
But  his  have  faded  in  the  tomb. 
And  warriors  in  their  narrow  homes 
Sleep,  reckless  that  their  leader  comes. 

Napoleon  comes !  but  Rhine's  pure  flood 
Eolls  on  without  a  tinge  of  blood  ; 
The  Pyramids  still  frown  in  gloom. 
And  grandeur,  o'er  an  empty  tomb, 
And  sweetly  now  the  moonbeam  smiles 
Upon  the  fair  Venetian  isles. 

Napoleon  comes !  but  Moscow's  spires 
Have  ceased  to  glow  with  hostile  fires ; 
No  spirit,  in  a  whisper  deep, 
Proclaims  it  where  the  Caesars  sleep. 
No  sigh  from  column,  tower,  or  dome,— 
A  man  that  once  was  feared  at  Eome, — 
For  life  and  power  have  passed  away, 
And  he  is  here,  a  king  of  clay. 

He  will  not  wake  at  war's  alarms, 

Its  music  or  its  moans  ; 
He  will  not  wake  when  Europe  hears 

The  crash  of  crumbling  thrones,  — 
And  institutions  gray  with  age 

Are  numbered  with  forgotten  things. 
And  privilege,  and  "right  divine," 

Eest  with  the  people,  not  their  kings. 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  97 

10     Now  raise  the  imperial  monument, 

Fame's  tribute  to  the  brave  ; 
The  warrior's  place  of  pilgrimage 

Shall  be  Napoleon's  grave. 
France,  envying  long  his  island  tomb 

Amid  the  lonely  deep, 
Has  gained  at  last  the  treasured  dust : 

Sleep !  mighty  mortal,  sleep  ! 


XXIX.  — SPEECH   eN   THE   AMERICAN   WAR. 

CHATHAM. 

["William  Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham,  was  born  in  Boconnoc,  in  the  county  of 
Cornwall,  England,  November  15,  1708,  and  died  at  Hayes,  in  Kent,  May  11, 
1778.  He  entered  the  House  of  Commons  in  1735,  became  secretary  of  state, 
and  substantially  prime  minister,  in  December,  1756,  and  continued  to  hold  this 
oflace,  with  a  briefinterval,  till  October,  1701.  In  176G  he  received  the  office  of 
lord  privy  seal,  and  was  elevated  to  the  peerage  with  the  title  of  Earl  of  Chat- 
ham. He  resigned  the  privy  seal  in  1768,  and  subsequently  took  a  leading 
part  in  many  popular  questions. 

Chatham's  name  is  one  of  the  most  illustrious  in  English  history.  Dr. 
Franklin  said  that  in  the  course  of  his  life  he  had  sometimes  seen  eloquence 
without  wisdom,  and  often  wisdom  without  eloquence;  in  Lord  Chatham 
alone  had  he  seen  both  united.  His  eloquence,  vivid,  impetuous,  and  daring, 
was  aided  by  uncommon  personal  advantages  ;  a  commanding  presence,  an  eye 
of  fire,  and  a  voice  of  equal  sweetness  and  power.  His  character  was  lofty,  his 
private  life  was  spotless,  and  his  motives  high.  His  temper  was  somewhat 
wayward,  and  he  was  impatient  of  opposition  or  contradiction.  His  memory 
is  cherished  with  peculiar  reverence  in  our  country,  because  of  his  earnest  and 
consistent  support  of  the  rights  of  the  colonies  against  the  measures  of  Lord 
North's  iulministration. 

The  following  speech  was  delivered  in  the  House  of  Lords,  November  18, 
1777.  The  king  had  opened  the  session  of  parliament  wiili  a  speech  from  the 
throne,  recommending  a  further  and  more  energetic  prosecution  of  the  war  to 
reduce  the  American  colonies  to  submission.  To  the  address  in  reply  to  this 
speech,  and  simply  echoing  its  sentiments,  Chatliam  offered  an  amendment, 
proposing  an  immediate  cessation  of  hostilities,  and  adequate  measures  of  con- 
ciliation. The  birth  of  the  princess  Sophia,  one  of  the  daughters  of  George 
IIJ,  had  recently  taken  place,  and  was  alluded  to  in  the  address.] 

I  RISE,  my  Lords,  to  declare  my  sentiments  on  this  most    w    J^ 
solemn  and  serious  subject.     It  has  imposed  a  load  upon  "^ 

my  mind,  which,  I  fear,  nothing  can  remove,  but  which 
9 


98  iiillaed's  sixth  reader. 

impels  me  to  endeavor  its  alleviation,  by  a  free  and  unre- 
served communication  of  my  sentiments. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  address  I  have  the  honor  of 
heartily  concurring  with  the  noble  earl  who  moved  it.     No 

5  man  feels  sincerer  joy  than  I  do ;  none  can  offer  more  gen- 
uine congratulations  on  every  accession  of  strength  to  the 
Protestant  succession,  I  therefore  join  iq  every  congratu- 
lation on  the  birth  of  another  princess,  and  the  happy 
recovery  of  her  Majesty. 

10  But  I  must  stop  here.  ^ly  courtly  complaisance  will 
carry  me  no  further.  I  will  not  join  in  congratulation  on 
misfortune  and  disgrace.  I  cannot  concur  in  a  blind  and 
servile  address,  which  approves  and  endeavors  to  sanctify 
the  monstrous  measures  which  have  heaped  disgrace  and 

15  misfortune  upon  us.  This,  my  Lords,  is  a  perilous  and 
tremendous  moment !  It  is  not  a  time  for  adulation.  The 
smoothness  of  flattery  cannot  now  avail  —  cannot  save  us 
in  this  rugged  and  awful  crisis.  It  is  now  necessary  to 
instruct  the  Throne  in  the  language  of  truth.     AVe  must 

20  dispel  the  illusion  and  the  darkness  which  envelop  it,  and 
display  in  its  full  danger  and  true  colors,  the  ruin  that  is 
brought  to  our  doors. 

This,  my  Lords,  is  our  duty.     It  is  the  proper  function 
of  this  noble  assembly,  sitting,  as  we  do,  upon  our  honors  in 

.25  this  house,  the  hereditary  council  of  the  Crown.  Who  is  the 
minister — where  is  the  minister,  that  has  dared  to  suggest 
to  the  Throne  the  contrary,  unconstitutional  language  this 
day  delivered  from  it  ?  The  accustomed  language  from  the 
Throne  has  been  application  to  Parliament  for  advice,  and 

80  a  reliance  on  its  constitutional  advice  and  assistance.  As 
it  is  the  right  of  Parliament  to  give,  so  it  is  the  duty  of 
the  Crown  to  ask  it.  But  on  this  day,  and  in  this  extreme 
momentous  exigency,  no  reliance  is  reposed  on  our  consti- 
tutional counsels !  no  advice  is  asked  from  the  sober  and 

35  enlightened  care  of  Parliament !  but  the  Crown,  from 
itself  and  by  itself,  declares  an  unalterable  determination 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  99 

to  pursue  measures  —  and  what  measures,  mj  Lords  ?  The 
measures  that  have  produced  the  imminent  perils  that 
threaten  us ;  the  measures  that  have  brought  ruin  to  our 
doors. 

"  6  Can  the  minister  of  the  day  now  presume  to  expect  a 
continuance  of  support  in  this  ruinous  infatuation !  Can 
Parliament  be  so  dead  to  its  dignity  and  its  duty  as  to  be 
thus  deluded  into  the  loss  of  the  one  and  the  violation  of 
the  other?    To  give  an  unlimited  credit  and  support  for 

10  the  steady  perseverance  in  measures  not  proposed  for  our 
parliamentary  advice,  but  dictated  and  forced  upon  us  — 
in  measures,  I  say,  my  Lords,  which  have  reduced  this  late 
flourishing  empire  to  ruin  and  contempt?  "  But  yesterday, 
and  England  might  have  stood  against  the  world ;  now 

15  none  so  poor  to  do  her  reverence."  I  use  the  words  of  a 
poet ;  but,  though  it  be  poetry,  it  is  no  fiction.  It  is  a 
shameful  truth  that  not  only  the  power  and  strength  of 
this  country  are  wasting  away  and  expiring,  but  her  well- 
earned  glories,  her  true  honor,  and  substantial  dignity  are 

20  sacrificed. 

France,  my  Lords,  has  insulted  you ;  she  has  encouraged 
and  sustained  America ;  and,  whether  America  be  wrong 
or  right,  the  dignity  of  this  country  ought  to  spurn  at  the 
oflGicious  insult  of  French  interference.     The  ministers  and 

25  embassadors  of  those  who  are  called  rebels  and  enemies, 
are  in  Paris  ;  in  Paris  they  transact  the  reciprocal  interests 
of  America  and  Prance.  Can  there  be  a  more  mortifying 
insult  ?  Can  even  our  ministers  sustain  a  more  humiliating 
disgrace  ?     Do  they  dare  to  resent  it  ?     Do  they  presume 

80  even  to  hint  a  vindication  of  their  honor,  and  the  dignity 
of  the  state,  by  requiring  the  dismission  of  the  plenipoten- 
tiaries of  America  ?  Such  is  the  degradation  to  which  they 
have  reduced  the  glories  of  England  ! 

The  people  whom  they  affect  to  call  contemptible  rebels, 

35  but  whose  growing  power  has  at  last  obtained  the  name  of 
enemies;  the  people  with  whom  they  have  engaged  this 


100  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

country  in  war,  and  against  whom  they  now  command  our 
implicit  support  in  every  measure  of  desperate  hostility  — 
this  people,  despised  as  rebels,  or  acknowledged  as  ene- 
mies, are  abetted  against  you,  supplied  with  every  military 
5  store,  their  interests  consulted,  and  their  embassadors  en- 
tertained, by  your  inveterate  enemy !  and  our  ministers 
dare  not  interpose  with  dignity  or  effect.  Is  this  the 
honor  of  a  great  kingdom  ?  Is  this  the  indignant  spirit 
of  England,  who  "but  yesterday"  gave  law  to  the  house 

10  of -Bourbon?  My  Lords,  the  dignity  of  nations  demands 
a  decisive  conduct  in  a  situation  like  this. 

My  Lords,  this  ruinous  and  ignominious  situation,  where 
we  cannot  act  with  success,  nor  suffer  with  honor,  calls 
upon  us  to  remonstrate  in  the  strongest  and  loudest  lan- 

15  guage  of  truth,  to  rescue  the  ear  of  majesty  from  the  delu- 
sions which  surround  it.  The  desperate  state  of  our  arms 
abroad  is  in  part  known.  No  man  thinks  more  highly 
of  them  than  I  do.  I  love  and  honor  the  English  troops. 
I  know  their  virtues  and  their  valor.     I  know  they  can 

20  achieve  anything  except  impossibilities ;  and  I  know  that 
the  conquest  of  English  America  is  an  impossibility. 

You  cannot,  I  venture  to  say,  you  cannot  conquer  Amer- 
ica. Your  armies  last  war  effected  everything  that  could 
be  effected ;  and  what  was  it  ?     It  cost  a  numerous  army, 

25  under  the  command  of  a  most  able  general,  (Lord  Am- 
herst,) now  a  noble  lord  in  this  house,  a  long  and  laborious 
campaign,  to  expel  five  thousand  Frenchmen  from  French 
America.  My  Lords,  you  cannot  conquer  America.  What 
is  your  present  situation  there  ?  We  do  not  know  the  worst ; 

SO  but  we  know  that  in  three  campaigns,  we  have  done  noth- 
ing and  suffered  much.  Besides  the  sufferings,  perhaps 
total  loss,  of  the  Northern  force,  the  best  appointed  army 
that  ever  took  the  field,  commanded  by  Sir  William  Howe, 
has  retired  from  the  American  lines.     He  was  obliged  to 

35  relinquish  his  attempt,  and  with  great  delay  and  danger 
to  adopt  a  new  and  distinct  plan  of  operations.     We  shall 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  101 

soon  know,  and  in  any  event  have  reason  to  lament,  wliat 
may  have  happened  since.  As  to  conquest, ^therefore,  my 
Lords,  I  repeat,  it  is  impossible. 

You  may  swell  every  expense  and  every  effort  still  more 
5  extravagantly ;  pile  and  accumulate  every  assistance  you 
can  buy  or  borrow ;  traffic  and  barter  with  every  little 
pitiful  German  prince  that  sells  and  sends  his  subjects  to 
the  shambles  of  a  foreign  despot ;  your  efforts  are  forever 
vain  and  impotent  —  doubly  so  from  this  mercenary  aid  on 

10  which  you  rely;  for  it  irritates,  to  an  incurable  resent- 
ment, the  minds  of  your  enemies,  to  overrun  them  with  the 
mercenary  sons  of  rapine  and  plunder,  devoting  them  and 
their  possessions  to  the  rapacity  of  hireling  cruelty  !  If 
I  were  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while  a  for- 

15  eign  troop  was  landed  in  my  country,  I  never  would  lay 
down  my  arms  —  never  —  never  —  never. 


XXX.  — THE   DEATH   OF   CHATHAM. 

Belsham. 

["William  Belsham,  an  English  author,  was  bom  in  1752,  and  died  in  1827. 
In  1806,  he  published  a  "  History  of  Great  Britain,  to  the  conclusion  of  the 
Peace  of  Amiens,  in  1802,"  in  twelve  volumes,  lie  was  an  ardent  friend  of 
civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  his  history  is  written  in  a  corresponding  spirit. 
He  was  also  the  author  of  numerous  other  productions  of  an  historical  and 
political  character.] 

The  mind  feels  interested  in  the  minutest  circumstan- 
ces relating  to  the  last  day  of  the  public  life  of  this  re- 
nowned statesman  and  patriot.  He  was  dressed  in  a  rich 
suit  of  black  velvet,  with  a  full  wig,  and  covered  up  to  the 
5  knees  in  flannel.  On  his  arrival  in  the  house,  he  refreshed 
himself  in  the  lord  chancellor's  room,  where  he  stayed  till 
prayers  were  over,  and  till  he  was  informed  that  business 
was  going  to  begin.  He  was  then  led  into  the  house  by 
his  son  and  son-in-law,  Mr.  William  Pitt  and  Lord  Vis- 
count Mahon,  all  the  lords  standing  up  out  of  respect, 


102  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

and  making  a  lane  for  him  to  pass  to  the  earl's  bench,  he 
bowing  very  gracefully  to  them  as  he  proceeded. 

He  looked  pale  and  much  emaciated,  but  his  eye  re- 
tained all  its  native  fire ;  which,  joined  to  his  general 
5  deportment,  and  the  attention  of  the  house,  formed  a  spec- 
tacle very  striking  and  impressive.  When  the  Duke  of 
Eichmond  had  sat  down.  Lord  Chatham  rose,  and  began  by 
lamenting  that  his  bodily  infirmities  had  so  long,  and  at 
so  important   a  crisis,  prevented  his  attendance  on  the 

10  duties  of  parliament.  He  declared  that  he  had  made  an 
efibrt  almost  beyond  the  powers  of  his  constitution,  to  come 
down  to  the  house  on  this  day,  perhaps  the  last  time  he 
should  ever  be  able  to  enter  its  walls,  to  express  the  in- 
dignation he  felt  at  the  idea  which  he  understood  was 

15  gone  forth  of  yielding  up  the  sovereignty  of  America. 

"  My  Lords,"  continued  he,  "I  rejoice  that  the  grave  has 
not  yet  closed  upon  me,  that  I  am  still  alive  to  lift  up  my 
voice  against  the  dismemberment  of  this  ancient  and  noble 
monarchy.     Pressed  down  as  I  am  by  the  load  of  infirm- 

2p  ity,  I  am  little  able  to  assist  my  country  in  this  most  per- 
ilous conjuncture  ;  but,  my  Lords,  while  I  have  sense  and 
memory,  I  never  will  consent  to  tarnish  the  lustre  of  this 
nation  by  an  ignominious  surrender  of  its  rights  and  fair- 
est possessions. 

25  "  Shall  a  people,  so  lately  the  terror  of  the  world,  now  fall 
prostrate  before  the  house  of  Bourbon  ?  It  is  impossible ! 
In  God's  name,  if  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  declare 
either  for  peace  or  war,  and  if  peace  cannot  be  preserved 
with  honor,  why  is  not  war  commenced  without  hesitation  ? 

30  I  am  not,  I  confess,  well  informed  of  the  resources  of  this 
kingdom,  but  I  trust  it  has  still  sufficient  to  maintain  its 
just  rights,  though  I  know  them  not.  Any  state,  my 
Lords,  is  better  than  despair.  Let  us  at  least  make  one 
effort,  and  if  we  must  fall,  let  us  fall  like  men." 

35  The  Duke  of  Eichmond,  in  reply,  declared  himself  to  be 
"  totally  ignorant  of  the  means  by  which  we  were  to  resist,' 


^^ 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  103 

with  success,  the  combination  of  America  with  the  house 
of  Bourbon.  He  urged  the  noble  lord  to  point  out  any- 
possible  mode,  if  he  were  able  to  do  it,  of  making  the 
Americans  renounce  that  independence  of  which  they  were 
5  in  possession.  His  Grace  added,  that  if  he  could  not,  no 
man  could ;  and  that  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  change 
his  opinion  on  the  noble  lord's  authority,  unsupported  by 
any  reasons  but  a  recital  of  the  calamities  arising  from  a 
state  of  things  not  in  the  power  of  this  country  now  to 

10  alter." 

Lord  Chatham,  who  had  appeared  greatly  moved  during 
the  reply,  made  an  eager  effort  to  rise  at  the  conclusion  of 
it,  as  if  laboring  with  some  great  idea,  and  impatient  to  give 
full  scope  to  his  feelings ;  but,  before  he  could  utter  a 

15  word,  pressing  his  hand  on  his  bosom,  he  fell  down  sud- 
denly, in  a  convulsive  fit.      The  Duke  of  Cumberland, 
?tord  Temple,  and  other  lords  near  him,  caught  him  in 

\V  their  arms.     The  house  was  immediately  cleared  ;  and  his 
lordship  being  carried  into  an  adjoining  apartment,  the 


>^ 


debate   was   adjourned.      Medical   assistance   being   ob- 
vC/       tained,  his  lordship  in  some  degree  recovered,  and  was 

C  conveyed  to  his  favorite  villa  of  Hayes,  in  Kent,  where, 
after  lingering  some  few  weeks,  he  expired  May  11,  1778, 
in  the  seventieth  year  of  his  age. 


XXXI.  —  CHAEACTEE  OF  CHATHAM. 

G  RATTAN. 

[Henry  Grattan,  the  celebrated  Irish  patriot  and  orator,  was  born  in 
Dublin,  July  3,  1746,  and  died  in  London  May  14,  1820.  lie  entered  the  Irish 
parliament  in  1775,  and  immediately  devoted  himself,  with  great  energy  and 
eloquence,  to  lighten  the  burdens,  political  and  commercial,  under  which  his 
country  then  languished.  The  ability  and  courage  which  he  displayed  and  the 
results  he  accomplished,  made  him  the  idol  of  the  Irish  people.  He  opposed 
the  Union,  but  after  it  had  been  effected,  sat  in  the  imperial  parliament,  where 
he  maintained  the  cause  and'  rights  of  Ireland  with  unabated  eloquence  and 
spirit.     He  was  a  zealous  advocate  of  Boman  Catholic  emancipation. 


104  hillard's  sixth  reader. 


His  public  lifo  was  honest  and  nobly  consistent  and  bin  private  character  wag 
without  a  blemish.  His  style  of  speaking-  was  vivid,  impassioned,  »ind  epi- 
grammatic. His  eloquence  owed  nothing  to  personal  ad  vantages ,  for  he  was 
below  the  medium  height,  and  not  prepossessing  in  appearance. 

This  character  of  Chatham  was  written  by  Grattan  when  quite  a  young 


^P'- 


man,  and  published  in  a  newspaper  of  the  day".]  L 

The  secretary  stood  alone.     Modern  degeneracy  had  not 


reached  him  Original  and  unaccommodating,  the  features 
of  his  character  had  the  hardihood  of  antiquity .T  His 
august  mind  overawea  miestyi  and  one  of  his  sovereigns 
5  thought  royalty  so  impaired^  his  presence  that  he  con- 
spired to  remove  him,  in  order  to  be  relieved  .from  his  supe- 
riority. No  state  chicaneryC  no  narrow  syst^fof  vicious 
politics,  sunk  him  to  the  vulgar  level  of  ^h^v^reat ;  but, 
overbearing,  persuasive,  and  impracticable,  his  object  was 

10  England,  his  ambition  was  fame. 

Without  dividing,  he  destroyed  "p^^^tj ;  without  corrupt- 
ing, he  made  a  venalage  unanimous.  France  sunk  be- 
neath him.  With  one  hand  he  smote  the  house  of  Bour- 
bon, and  wielded  in  the  other  the  democracy  of  England. 

15  The  sight  of  his  mind  was  infinite ;  and  his  schemes  were 
to  afi'ect,  not  England,  not  the  present  age  only,  but 
Europe  and  posterity:^JvVonderful  were  the  means  by 
which  these  schemeg.were  accomplished,  always  seasona- 


ble,  always  adequlite,  the  suggestion  of  an  understanjiing 
20  animated  by  ardor  and  enlightened  by  prophecy^v^^^^^''^''^^ 
The  ordinary  feelings  which  make  life  amiable  and  indo- 
lent were  unknown  to  him.     No  domestic  difficulties,  no 
domestic  weakness  reached  him  ;  but  aloof  from  the  sordid 
occurrences  of  life,  and  un^llied^.by  its  intercourse,  he 
25  came  occasionally  into  our  syst^Stn^o  counsel  and  to  decide. 
A  character  so  exalted,  so  strenuous,  so  various,  so  au- 
thoritative, astonished  a  corrupt  age,   and   the   treasury 
trembled  at  the  name  of  Pitt,  through  all  the  classes  of 
venality.     Corruption  imagined,  indeed,  that  she  had  found 
30  defects  in  this  statesman,  and  talked  much  of  the  inconsist- 
ency of  his  glory,  and  much  of  the  ruin  of  his  victories;  but 


/  hillard's  sixth  reader.  "       105 

the  history  of  his  country,  and  the  calamities  of  the  enemy, 
answered  and  refuted  her. 

^  X  ^Nor  were  his  political  abilities  his  only  talents :  his  elp- 

Vj^^quence  was  an  era  in  the  senate,  peculiar  and  spontaiieousj'jj^   .. 
5  familiarly  expressing  gigantic  sentiments  and  instinctive  // '^^'^ 
wisdom ;  not  like  the  torrent  of  Demosthenes,  or  the  splen-    ^vv^/j^. 
did  conflagration  of  Tully ;   it  resembled  sometimes  the 
thunder,  and  sometimes  the  music  of  the  spheres. 
He  did  not,  like  Murray,  ^"=  conduct  the  understanding 

10  through  the  painful  subtlety  of  argumentation ;  nor  was 
he,  like  Townshend,  ''■'  forever  on  the  rack  of  exertion ;  but 
rather  lightened  upon  the  subject,  and  reached  the  point  by 
the  flashings  of  the  mind,  which,  like  those  of  his  eye,  were 
felt,  but  could  not  be  followed.    Upon  the  whole,  there  was 

15  in  this  man  something  that  could  create,  subvert,  or  re- 
form ;  an  understanding,  a  spirit,  and  an  eloquence  to  sum- 
mon mankind  to  society,  or  to  break  the  bonds  of  slavery 
asunder,  and  to  rule  the  wilderness  of  free  minds  with 
unbounded  authority;   something  that  could  establish  or 

20  overwhelm  empire,  and  strike  a  blow  in  the  world  that 
should  resound  through  the  universe. 


XXXII.  — THE   PILGEIM   FATHEES. 

PlERPONT. 

[John  Pikrpont  was  born  in  Litchfield,  Connecticut,  April  6, 1785,  and  was 
graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1804.  He  was  orig'inally  a  lawyer,  but  afterwards 
studied  theology,  and  in  1819  was  ordained  minister  of  the  Ilollis  Street  Church, 
in  Boston,  where  he  remained  till  1845.  Since  then  he  has  been  settled  over 
congregations  in  Troy,  New  York,  and  Medford,  Massachusetts.  He  has  been 
an  active  laborer  in  behalf  of  temperance,  anti-slavery,  the  improvement  of 
prison  discipline,  and  other  reforms;  and  many  of  his  poems  have  been  called 

♦VTilliam  Murray,  Earl  of  Mansfield,  held  a  seat  in  parliament,  and  was  an 
orator  of  most  persuasive  elegance  and  subtle  powers  of  argumentation.  He 
was  appointed  chief  justice  of  the  Kings  Bench  in  175G.  Charles  To\\Tishend 
entered  parliament  in  1747.  He  held  various  high  oifices  during  his  life.  He 
supported  the  stamp  act  and  the  taxation  of  the  American  coloules.  He  had 
great  parliamentary  abilities  and  oratorical  powers. 


r^ 


106  hillabd's  sixth  header. 

forth  by  the  moral  and  religious  movements  of  the  day.  His  poetry  is  char- 
acterized by  energy  of  expression,  and  a  generous  tone  of  feeling.  The  fol- 
lowing poem  was  Avritten  for  the  celebration  of  the  anniversary  of  the  Pilgrim 
Society  of  Plymouth,  in  December,  1824.] 

1  The  Pilgrim  Fathers — where  are  they? 

The  waves  that  brought  them  o'er 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  and  throw  their  spray, 

As  they  break  along  the  shore ; 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  as  they  rolled  that  day, 

When  the  Mayflower  moored  below, 
When  the  sea  around  was  black  with  storms, 

And  white  the  shore  with  snow. 

2  The  mists,  that  wrapped  the  Pilgrim's  sleep. 

Still  brood  upon  the  tide ; 
And  the  rocks  yet  keep  their  watch  by  the  deep, 

To  stay  its  waves  of  pride. 
But  the  snow-white  sail,  that  he  gave  to  the  gale, 

When  the  heavens  looked  dark,  is  gone ;  — 
As  an  angel's  wing,  through  an  opening  cloud. 

Is  seen,  and  then  withdrawn. 

3  The  Pilgrim  exile  —  sainted  name !  — 

The  hill,  whose  icy  brow 
Kejoiced,  when  he  came,  in  the  morning's  flame, 

In  the  morning's  flame  bums  now. 
And  the  moon's  cold  light,  as  it  lay  that  night 

On  the  hill-side  and  the  sea, 
Still  lies  where  he  laid  hrs  houseless  head ;  — 

But  the  Pilgrim  —  where  is  he  ? 

4  The  Pilgrim  Fathers  are  at  rest : 

When  Summer  's  throned  on  high. 
And  the  world's  warm  breast  is  in  verdure  dressed. 

Go,  stand  on  the  hill  where  they  lie. 
The  earliest  ray  of  the  golden  day 

On  that  hallowed  spot  is  cast ; 


hillard's  sixth  readek.  107 

And  th^  evening  sun,  as  he  leaves  tlie  world, 
Looks  kindly  on  that  spot  last 

The  Pilgrim  spirit  has  not  fled : 

It  walks  in  noon's  broad  light; 
And  it  watches  the  bed  of  the  glorious  dead, 

"With  the  holy  stars,  by  night 
It  watches  the  bed  of  the  brave  who  have  bled, 

And  shall  guard  this  ice-bound  shore. 
Till  the  waves  of  the  bay,  where  the  Mayflower  lay, 

Shall  foam  and  freeze  no  more. 


THE    G00D    GKEAT   MAN. 
Coleridge.* 
How  seldom,  friend,  a  good  great  man  inherits 

Honor  or  wealth,  with  all  his  worth  and  pains  I 
It  sounds  like  stories  from  the  land  of  spirits, 
If  any  man  obtain  that  which  he  merits, 
Or  any  merit  that  which  he  obtains. 

For  shame,  dear  friend ;  renounce  this  canting  strain. 
What  wouldst  thou  have  a  good  great  man  obtain  ? 
Place,  titles,  salary,  a  gilded  chain  — 
Or  throne  of  corses  which  his  sword  hath  slain  ? 
Greatness  and  goodness  are  not  means,  but  ends. 
Hath  he  not  always  treasures,  always  friends. 
The  good  great  man  ?  three  treasures  —  love  and  light, 
And  calm  thoughts,  regular  as  infants'  breath ; 
And  three  firm  friends,  more  sure  than  day  and  night  — 
Himself,  his  Maker,  and  the  angel  Death. 
*See  page  347  for  biographical  sketch. 


108  hillard's  sixth  eeader. 


XXXIIL  — THE  FALLS  «E  NIAGAEA. 

HOWISON. 

[From  "  Sketches  of  Upper  Canada,"  by  John  Howison,  published  in  Edin- 
burgh, in  1821.] 

Now  that  I  propose  to  attempt  a  description  of  tlie 
Falls  of  Niagara,  I  feel  myself  threatened  with  a  return  of 
those  throbs  of  trembling  expectation  which  agitated  me 
on  my  first  visit  to  those  stupendous  cataracts ;  and  to 
5  which  every  person  of  the  least  sensibility  is  liable,  when 
he  is  on  the  eve  of  seeing  anything  that  has  strongly  ex- 
cited his  curiosity,  or  powerfully  affected  his  imagine; i'^. 
The  form  of  Niagara  Falls  is  that  of  an  irregular  semi- 
circle, about  three  quarters  of  a  mile  in  extent.    This  is  di- 

10  vided  into  two  distinct  cascades  by  the  intervention  of  Goat 
Island,  the  extremity  of  which  is  perpendicular,  and  in  a 
line  with  the  precipice  over  which  the  water  is  projected. 
The  cataract  on  the  Canada  side  of  the  river  is  called  the 
Horseshoe  or  Great  Fall,  from  its  peculiar  form,  and  that 

15  next  the  United  States,  the  American  Fall. 

The  Table  Eock,  from  which  the  Falls  of  Niagara  may 
be  contemplated  in  all  their  grandeur,  lies  on  an  exact 
level  with  the  edge  of  the  cataract  on  the  Canada  side, 
and,  indeed,  forms  a  part  of  the  precipice  over  which  the 

20  water  gushes.  It  derives  its  name  from  the  circumstance 
of  its  projecting  beyond  the  cliffs  that  support  it,  like  the 
leaf  of  a  table.  To  gain  this  position,  it  is  necessary  to 
descend  a  steep  bank,  and  to  follow  a  path  that  winds 
among  shrubbery  and  trees,  which  entirely  conceal  from 

25  the  eye  the  scene  that  awaits  him  who  traverses  it. 

When  near  the  termination  of  this  road,  a  few  steps 
carried  me  beyond  all  these  obstructions,  and  a  magnifi- 
cent amphitheatre  of  cataracts  burst  upon  my  view  with 
appalling  suddenness  and  majesty.     However,  in  a  mo- 

30  ment  the  scene  was  concealed  from  my  eyes  by  a  dense 
cloud  of  spray,  which  involved  me  so  completely  that  I  did 


^rs""         hillard's  sixth  reader.        .         109 

not  dare  to  extricate  myself.  A  mingled  rushing  and 
thundering  filled  my  ears.  I  could  see  nothing  except 
when  the  wind  made  a  chasm  in  the  spray,  and  then  tre- 
mendous cataracts  seemed  to  encompass  me  on  every  side  ; 
5  while  below,  a  raging  and  foamy  gulf  of  undiscoverable 
extent  lashed  the  rocks  with  its  hissing  waves,  and  swal- 
lowed, under  a  horrible  obscurity,  the  smoking  floods  that 
were  precipitated  into  its  bosom. 

At  first  the  sky  was  obscured  by  clouds ;  but  after  a 

10  few  minutes  the  sun  burst  forth,  and  the  breeze  subsiding 
at  the  same  time  permitted  the  spray  to  ascend  perpen- 
dicularly. A  host  of  pyramidal  clouds  rose  majestically, 
one  after  another,  from  the  abyss  at  the  bottom  of  the  fall ; 
and  each,  when  it  had  ascended  a  little  above  the  edge  of 

15  the  cataract,  displayed  a  beautiful  rainbow,  which  in  a 
few  moments  was  gradually  transferred  into  the  bosom  of 
the  cloud  that  immediately  succeeded.  The  spray  of  the 
Great  Fall  had  extended  itself  through  a  wide  space  di- 
rectly over  me,  and  receiving  the  full  influence  of  the  sun, 

20  exhibited  a  luminous  and  magnificent  rainbow,  which  con- 
tinued to  overarch  and  irradiate  the  spot  on  which  I  stood, 
while  I  enthusiastically  contemplated  the  indescribable 
scene. 

The  body  of  water  which  composes  the  middle  part  of 

25  the  Great  Fall  is  so  immense  that  it  descends  nearly  two 
thirds  of  the  space  without  being  ruffled  or  broken ;  and 
the  solemn  calmness  with  which  it  rolls  over  the  edge  of 
the  precipice  is  finely  contrasted  with  the  perturbed  ap- 
pearance it  assumes  after  having  reached  the  gulf  below. 

.30  But  the  water  towards  each  side  of  the  fall  is  shattered  the 
moment  it  drops  over  the  rock,  and  loses  as  it  descends, 
in  a  great  measure,  the  character  of  a  fluid,  being  divided 
into  pyramidal- shaped  fragments,  the  bases  of  which  are 
turned  upwards. 

35       The  surface  of  the  gulf  below  the  cataract  presents  a 
very  singular  aspect ;  seeming,  as  it  were,  filled  with  an 
10 


110  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

immense  quantity  of  hoar  frost,  which  is  agitated  by  small 
and  rapid  undulations.  The  particles  of  water  are  daz- 
zlingly  white,  and  do  not  apparently  unite  together,  as 
might  be  supposed,  but  seem  to  continue  for  a  time  in  a 
5  state  of  distinct  comminution,  and  to  repel  each  other  with 
a  thrilling  and  shivering  motion  which  cannot  easily  be 
described. 

The  noise  made  by  the  Horseshoe  Fall,  though  very 
great,  is  far  less  than  might  be  expected,  and  varies  in 

10  loudness  according  to  the  state  of  the  atmosphere.  When 
the  weather  is  clear  and  frosty,  it  may  be  distinctly  heard 
at  the  distance  of  ten  or  twelve  miles  —  nay,  much  far- 
ther when  there  is  a  steady  breeze ;  but  I  have  frequently 
stood  upon  the  declivity  of  the  high  bank  that  overlooks 

15  the  Table  Eock,  and  distinguished  a  low  thundering  only, 
which  at  times  was  altogether  drowned  amid  the  roaring  of 
iLc  rapids  above  the  cataract.  In  my  opinion,  the  con- 
cave shape  of  the  Great  Fall  explains  this  circumstance. 
The  noise  vibrates  from  one  side  of  the  rocky  recess  to  the 

20  other,  and  only  a  little  escapes  from  its  confinement ;  and 
even  this  is  less  distinctly  heard  than  it  would  otherwise 
be,  as  the  profusion  of  spray  renders  the  air  near  the  cat- 
aract a  very  indifferent  conductor  of  sound. 

The  road  to  the  bottom  of  the  fall  presents  many  more 

25  difficulties  than  that  which  leads  to  the  Table  Eock.  After 
leaving  the  Table  Eock,  the  traveller  must  proceed  down 
the  river  nearly  half  a  mile,  where  he  will  come  to  a  small 
chasm  in  the  bank,  in  which  there  is  a  spiral  staircase  en- 
closed in  a  wooden  building.     By  descending  this  stair, 

30  which  is  seventy  or  eighty  feet  in  perpendicular  height,  he 
will  find  himself  under  the  precipice,  on  the  top  of  which 
he  formerly  walked.  A  high  but  sloping  bank  extends 
from  its  base  to  the  edge  of  the  river ;  and  on  the  summit 
of  this  there  is  a  narrow,  slippery  path,  covered  with  an- 

35  gular  fragments  of  rock,  which  leads  to  the  Great  Fall. 
The  impending  cliffs,  hung  with  a  profusion  of  trees 


hillaed's  sixth  header.  Ill 

and  brushwood,  overarcli  this  road,  and  seem  to  vibrate 
with  the  thunders  of  the  cataract.'^  In  some  places  they 
rise  abruptly  to  the  height  of  one  hundred  feet,  and  dis- 
play upon  their  surface  fossils,  shells,  and  the  organic  re- 
5  mains  of  a  former  world ;  thus  sublimely  leading  the  mind 
to  contemplate  the  convulsions  which  nature  has  under- 
gone since  the  creation. 

As  the  traveller  advances,  he  is  frightfully  stunned 
by  i\vi  appalling  noise ;    for  clouds  of  spray  sometimes 

10  envelop  him,  and  suddenly  check  his  faltering  steps; 
rattlesnakes  start  from  the  cavities  of  the  rocks,  and 
the  screams  of  eagles  soaring  among  the  whirlwinds  of 
eddying  vapor,  which  obscure  the  gulf  of  the  cataract,  at 
intervals  announce  that  the  raging  waters  have  hurled 

15  some  bewildered  animal  over  the  precipice. 

After  scrambling  among  piles  of  huge  rocks  that  ob- 
struct his  way,  the  traveller  gains  the  bottom  of  the  fall 
where  the  soul  can  be  susceptible  of  but  one  emotion, 
namely,  that  of  uncontrollable  terror.     It  was  not  until 

20  I  had,  by  frequent  excursions  to  the  falls,  in  some  measure 
familiarized  my  mind  with  their  sublimities,  that  I  ven- 
tured to  explore  the  penetralia  of  the  great  cataract.  The 
precipice  over  which  it  rolls  is  very  much  arched  under- 
neath ;  while  the  impetus  which  the  water  receives  in  its 

25  descent  projects  it  far  beyond  the  cliff,  and  thus  an  im- 
mense Gothic  arch  is  formed  by  the  rock  and  the  torrent. 
Twice  I  entered  this  cavern,  and  twice  I  was  obliged  to 
retrace  my  steps,  lest  I  should  be  suffocated  by  the  blasts 
of  dense  spray  that  whirled  around  me ;    however,   the 

30  third  time  I  succeeded  in  advancing  about  twenty- five 
yards.  Here  darkness  began  to  encircle  me ;  on  one  side 
the  black  cliff  stretched  itself  into  a  gigantic  arch  far 
above  my  head,  and  on  the  other  the  dense  and  hissing 
torrent  formed  an  impenetrable  sheet  of  foam,  with  which 

35  I  was  drenched  in  a  moment.  The  rocks  were  so  slippery 
that  I  could  hardly  keep  my  feet,  or  hold  securely  by  them; 


112  hillard's  sixth  reader." 

while  the  horrid  din  made  me  think  the  precipices  above 
were  tumbling  down  in  col(^sal  fragments  upon  my  head.  ' 
It  is  not  easy  to  determine  how  far  an  individual  might 
advance  between  the  sheet  of  water  and  the  rock ;  but  were 
5  it  even  possible  to  explore  the  recess  to  its  utmost  extrem- 
ity, scarcely  any  one,  I  believe,  would  have  courage  to  at- 
tempt an  expedition  of  the  kind. 

A  little  way  below  the  Great  Fall  the  river  is,  compara- 
tively speaking,  tranquil,  so  that  a  ferry  boat  plies  be- 

10  tween  the  Canada  and  American  shores  for  the  convenience 
of  travellers.  When  I  first  crossed,  the  heaving  flood 
tossed  about  the  skifi"  with  a  violence  that  seemed  very 
alarming;  but  as  soon  as  we  gained  the  middle  of  the 
river,  my  attention  was  altogether  engaged  by  the  surpass-' 

15  ing  grandeur  of  the  scene  before  me.  I  was  now  within 
the  area  of  a  semicircle  of  cataracts,  more  than  three 
thousand  feet  in  extent,  and  floated  on  the  surface  of  a 
gulf  raging, fathomless, and  interminable.  Majestic  cliffs, 
splendid  rainbows,  lofty  trees,  and  columns  of  spray  were 

20  the  gorgeous  decorations  of  this  theatre  of  wonders,  while 
a  dazzling  sun  shed  refulgent  glories  upon  the  scene. 

Surrounded  with  clouds  of  vapor,  and  stunned  into  a 
state  of  confusion  and  terror  by  the  hideous  noise,  I  looked 
upwards  to  the  height  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  and 

25  saw  vast  floods,  dense,  awful,  and  stupendous,  vehemently 
bursting  over  the  precipice,  and  rolling  down,  as  if  the 
windows  of  heaven  were  open  to  pour  another  deluge  upon 
the  earth.  Loud  sounds,  resembling  discharges  of  ar- 
tillery or  volcanic  explosions,  were   now  distinguishable 

30  amidst  the  watery  tumult,  and  added  terrors  to  the  abyss 
from  which  they  issued.  The  sun,  looking  majestically 
through  the  ascending  spray,  was  encircled  by  a  radiant 
halo,  whilst  fragments  of  rainbows  floated  on  every  side, 
and  momentarily  vanished,  only  to  give  place  to  a  succes- 

35  sion  of  others  more  brilliant.  Looking  backwards  I  saw 
the  Niagara  River,  again  become  calm  and  tranquil,  rolling 


,  hillakd's  sixth  reader.  113 

magnificently  between  the  towering  cliffs  that  rose  on 
either  side,  and  receiving  showers  of  orient  dew-drops  from 
the  trees  that  gracefully  overarched  its  transparent  bosom. 
There  have  been  instances  of  people  being  carried  over 
5  the  falls,  but  I  believe  none  of  the  bodies  ever  were  found. 
The  rapidity  of  the  river,  before  it  tumbles  down  the  pre- 
cipice, is  so  great,  that  a  human  body  would  certainly  be 
whirled  along  without  sinking  ;  therefore  some  of  those  in- 
dividuals, to  whom  I  allude,  probably  retained  their  senses 

10  till  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  cataract,  and  even  looked 
down  upon  the  gulf  into  which  they  were  the  next  moment 
precipitated. 

Many  years  ago,  an  Indian,  while  attempting  to  cross 
the  river  above  the  falls  in  a  canoe,  had  his  paddle  struck 

15  from  his  hands  by  the  rapidity  of  the  currents.  He  was 
immediately  hurried  toward  the  cataract,  and,  seeing  that 
death  was  inevitable,  he  covered  his  head  with  his  cloak, 
and  resigned  himself  to  destruction.  However,  when  he 
approached  the  edge  of  the  cataract,  shuddering  nature  re- 

20  volted  so  strongly  that  he  was  seen  to  start  up  and  stretch 
out  his  arms ;  but  the  canoe  upset,  and  he  was  instantly 
ingulfed  amidst  the  fury  of  the  boiling  surge. 


XXXIY.  — THE   MISEEIES  OF  WAR 

Hall, 

[Robert  Hall  was  born  in  Arnsby,  Leicestersliire,  England,  May  2, 176#, 
and  died  in  Bristol,  February  21,  1831.  He  was  educated  at  the  University  of 
Aberdeen,  in  Scotland,  became  a  clergyman  of  the  Baptist  persuasion,  and  was 
settled  first  at  Bristol,  next  at  Cambridge,  then  at  Leicester,  and  lastly  at 
Bristol  again.  He  was  a  very  eloquent  and  popular  preacher,  and  hardly  less 
remarkable  for  conversational  power.  He  was  of  robust  figure,  but  of  feeble 
health,  with  a  countenance  expressive  of  self-reliance  and  intellectual  strength. 
His  works,  edited,  with  a  memoir,  by  Ollnthus  Gregory,  and  with  an  estimate 
of  his  character  as  a  preacher,  by  John  Foster,  have  been  published  in  England 
and  America.  They  consist  of  sermons,  occasional  productions,  and  contribu- 
tions to  periodical  literature.    Their  style  is  rich,  animated,  and  jiure.] 

10* 


114 


Though  the  whole  race  of  man  is  doomed  to  dissolution, 
and  we  are  all  hastening  to  our  long  home ;  yet  at  each 
successive  moment  life  and  death  seem  to  divide  between 
them  the  dominion  of  mankind,  and  life  to  have  the  larger 
5  share.  It  is  otherwise  in  war ;  death  reigns  there  without 
a  rival,  and  without  control.  War  is  the  work,  the  element, 
or  rather  the  sport  and  triumph,  of  Death,  who  glories  not 

^      only  in  the  extent  of  his  conquest,  but  in  the  richness  of 
l^     his  spoil.     In  the  other  methods  of  attack,  in  the  other 

10  forms  which  death  assumes,  the  feeble  and  the  aged,  who 
at  the  best  can  live  but  a  short  time,  are  usually  the  vic- 
tims ;  here  they  are  the  vigorous  and  the  strong. 

It  is  remarked  by  the  most  ancient  of  poets,  that  in 
peace,  children  bury  their  parents ;  in  war,  parents  bury 

15  their  children :  nor  is  the  difference  small.  Children  la- 
ment their  parents,  sincerely,  indeed,  but  with  that  mod- 
erate and  tranquil  sorrow  which  it  is  natural  for  those  to 
feel  who  are  conscious  of  retaining  many  tender  ties,  many 
animating  prospects.     Parents  mourn  for  their  children 

20  with  the  bitterness  of  despair ;  the  aged  parent,  the  wid- 
owed mother,  loses,  when  she  is  deprived  of  her  children, 
everything  but  the  capacity  of  suffering :  her  heart,  with- 
ered and  desolate,  admits  no  other  object,  cherishes  no 
other  hope.     It  is  Eachel,  weeping  for  her  children,  and 

25  refusing  to  be  comforted,  because  they  are  not. 

But  to  confine  our  attention  to  the  number  of  the  slain, 
would  give  us  a  very  inadequate  idea  of  the  ravages  of  the 
sword.  The  lot  of  thosa  who  perish  instantaneously  may 
be  considered,  apart  from  religious  prospects,  as  compara- 

30  tively  happy,  since  they  are  exempt  from  those  lingering 
diseases  and  slow  torments  to  which  others  are  liable.  We 
cannot  see  an  individual  expire,  though  a  stranger,  or  an 
enemy,  without  being  sensibly  moved,  and  prompted  by 
compassion  to  lend  him  every  assistance  in  our  power. 

35  Every  trace  of  resentment  vanishes  in  a  moment ;  every 
other  emotion  gives  way  to  pity  and  terror. 


115 


In  these  last  extremities  we  remember  nothing  but  the 
respect  and  tenderness  due  to  our  common  nature.  What  a 
scene,  then,  must  a  field  of  battle  present,  where  thousands 
are  left  without  assistance,  and  without  pity,  with  their 
5  wounds  exposed  to  the  piercing  air,  while  the  blood,  freezing 
as  it  flows,  binds  them  to  the  earth,  amidst  the  trampling 
of  horses,  and  the  insults  of  an  enraged  foe  ! 

If  they  are  spared  by  the  humanity  of  the  enemy,  and 
carried  from  the  field,  it  is  but  a  prolongation  of  torment. 

10  Conveyed  in  uneasy  vehi^es,  often  to  a  remote  distance, 
through  roads  almost  impassable,  they  are  lodged  in  ill- 
prepared  receptacles  for  the  wounded  and  the  sick,  where 
the  variety  of  distress  baffles  all  the  efibrts  of  humanity 
and  skill,  and  renders  it  impossible  to  give  to  each  the 

15  attention  he^^  demands.  Far  from  their  native  home,  no 
tender  assiduities  of  friendship,  no  well-known  voice,  no 
wife,  or  mother,  or  sister,  is  near  to  soothe  their  sorrows, 
relieve  their  thirst,  or  close  their  eyes  in  death  !  Unhappy 
man !  and  must  you  be  swept  into  the  grave  unnoticed  and 

20  unnumbered,  and  no  friendly  tear  be  shed  for  your  suffer- 
ings, or  mingled  with  your  dust  ? 

We  must  remember,  however,  that  as  a  very  small  pro- 
portion of  a  military  life  is  spent  in  actual  combat,  so  it  is 
a  very  small  part  of  its  miseries  which  must  be  ascribed 

25  to  this  source.  More  are  consumed  by  the  rust  of  inac- 
tivity than  by  the  edge  of  the  sword ;  confined  to  a  scanty 
or  unwholesome  diet,  exposed  in  sickly  climates,  harassed 
with  tiresome  marches  and  perpetual  alarms  ;  their  life  is 
a  continual  scene  of  hardships  and  dangers.     They  grow 

30  familiar  with  hunger,  cold,  and  watchfulness.     Crowded 

into  hospitals  and  prisons,  contagion  spreads  amongst  their 

ranks  till  the  ravages  of  disease  exceed  those  of  the  enemy. 

W^e  have  hitherto  only  adverted  to   the  sufferings  of 

those  who  are  engaged  in  the  profession  of  arms,  without 

35  taking  into  our  account  the  situation  of  the  countries  which 

j^    are  th«  scenes  of  hostilities.     How  dreadful  to  hold  every-. 


116  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

thing  at  the  mercy  of  an  enemy,  and  to  receive  life  itself 
as  a  boon  dependent  on  the  sword !  How  boundless  the 
fears  which  such  a  situation  must  inspire,  where  the  issues 
of  life  and  death  are  determined  by  no  known  laws,  prin- 
6  ciples,  or  customs,  and  no  conjecture  can  be  formed  of  our 
destiny,  except  as  far  as  it  is  dimly  deciph^ed  in  charac- 
ters of  blood,  in  the  dictates  of  revenge,  and  the  caprices 
of  power ! 

Conceive  but  for  a  moment  the  consternation  which  the 

10  approach  of  an  invading  army  would  impress  on  the  peace- 
ful villages  in  our  own  neighborhood.  When  you  have 
placed  yourselves  for  an  instant  in  that  situation,  you  will 
learn  to  sympathize  with  those  unhappy  countries  which 
have  sustained  the  ravages  of  arms.     But  how  is  it  possi- 

15  ble  to  give  you  an  idea  of  these  horrors  ?  Here  you  behold 
rich  harvests,  the  bounty  of  Heaven,  and  the  reward  of 
industry,  consumed  in  a  moment,  or  trampled  under  foot, 
while  famine  and  pestilence  follow  the  steps  of  desolation. 
There  the  cottages  of  peasants  given  up  to  the  flames, 

20  mothers  expiring  through  fear,  not  for  themselves  but  their 
infants ;  the  inhabitants  flying  with  their  helpless  babes, 
in  all  directions,  miserable  fugitives  on  their  native  soil ! 
In  another  part  you  witness  opulent  cities  taken  by  storm ; 
the  streets,  where  no  sounds  were  heard  but  those  of  peace- 

25  ful  industry,  filled  on  a  sudden  with  slaughter  and  blood, 
resounding  with  the  cries  of  the  pursuing  and  the  pursued ; 
the  palaces  of  nobles  demolished,  the  houses  of  the  rich 
pillaged,  and  every  age,  sex,  and  rank,  mingled  in  promis- 
cuous massacre  and  ruin  I 


XXXV.  — THE    VOYAGE. 
Irving. 
To  an  American  visiting  Europe,  the  long  voyage  he 
has  to  make  is  an  excellent  preparative.     From  the  mo- 


hillard's  sixth  eeader.  117 

ment  you  lose  sight  of  the  land  you  have  left,  all  is 
vacancy  until  you  step  on  th6  opposite  shore,  and  are 
launched  at  once  into  the  bustle  and  novelties  of  another 
world. 
6  I  have  said  that  at  sea  all  is  vacancy.  I  should  correct 
the  expression.  To  one  given  up  to  day-dreaming,  and 
fond  of  losing  himself  in  reveries,  a  sea- voyage  is  full  of 
subjects  for  meditation ;  but  then  they  are  the  wonders  of 
the  deep,  and  of  the  air,  and  rather  tend  to  abstract  the 

10  mind  from  worldly  themes.     I  delighted  to  loll  over  the 
quarter-railing,  or  climb  to  the  main-top  on  af  calm  day^ 
and  muse  for  hours  together  on  the  tranquil  bosom  of  S^ 
summer's  sea  ;  or  to  gaze  upon  the  piles  of  golden  clouds 
just  peering  above  th^  horizon,   fancy  them  some  fairy 

15  realms,  and  people  them  with  a  creation  of  my  own  ;  or  to 
watch  the^  gentle  undulating  billows,  rolling  their  silver 
volumes  as  if  to  die  away  on  those  happy  shores. 

There  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  mingled  security  and 
awe,  with  which  I  looked  down,  from  my  giddy  height,  on 

20  the  monsters  of  the  deep  at  their  uncouth  gambols,— shoals 
of  porpoises  tumbling  about  the  bow  of  the  ship;  the 
grampus,  slowly  heaving  his  huge  form  above  the  surface ; 
or  the  ravenous  shark,  darting  like  a  spectre  through  the 
blue  waters.     My  imagination  would  conjure  up  all  that 

25  I  had  heard  or  read  of  the  watery  world  beneath  me  ;  of 
the  finny  herds  that  roam  its  fathomless  valleys ;  of  shape- 
less monsters  that  lurk  among  the  very  foundations  of  the 
earth ;  and  of  those  wild  phantasms  that  swell  the  tales  of 
fishermen  and  sailors. 

30  Sometimes  a  distant  sail,  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the 
ocean,  would  be  another  theme  of  idle  speculation.  How 
interesting  this  fragment  of ,  a  world  hastening  to  rejoin 
the  great  mass  of  existence !  What  a  glorious  monument 
of  human  invention,  that  has  thus  triumphed  over  wind 

35  and  wave  ;  has  brought  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  commun- 
ion ;  has  established  an  interchange  of  blessings,  pouring 


118  6lLLARD'S/STXTH\ilEADER.  J 

into  the  sterile  regions  of  the  north  all  the  luxuries  of  the 
south ;  diffused  the  light  of  knowledge  and  the  charities 
of  cultivated  life ;  and  has  thus  bound  together  those  scat- 
tered portions  of  the  human  race,  between  which  nature 
5  seemed  to  have  thrown  an  insurmountable  barrier  ! 

We  one  day  descried  some  shapeless  object  drifting  at  a 
distance.  At  sea,  everything  that  breaks  the  monotony 
of  the  surrounding  expanse,  attracts  attention.  It  proved 
to  be  the  mast  of  a  ship  that  must  have  been  completely 

10  wrecked;  for  there  were  the  remains  of  handkerchiefs,  by 
which  some  of  the  crew  had  fastened  themselves  to  this 
spar,  to  prevent  their  being  washed  off  by  the  waves. 
There  was  no  trace  by  which  the  name  of  the  ship  could 
be  ascertained.     The  wreck  had  evidently  drifted  about 

15  for  many  months;  clusters  of  shell-fish  had  fastened  about 
it,  and  long  sea- weeds  flaunted  at  its  sides.  But  where, 
thought  I,  are  the  crew  ?  Their  struggle  has  long  been 
over ;  they  have  gone  down  amidst  the  roar  of  the  tem- 
pest ;  their  bones  lie  whitening  in  the  caverns  of  the  deep. 

20  Silence  —  oblivion,  like  the  waves,  have  closed  over  them, 
and  no  one  can  tell  the  story  of  theii:  end. 

What  sighs  have  been  wafted  after  that  ship !  what 
prayers  offered  up  at  the  deserted  fireside  of  home !  How 
often  has  the  mistress,  the  wife,  and  the  mother,  pored 

25  over  the  daily  news  to  catch  some  casual  intelligence  of 
this  rover  of  the  deep !  How  has  expectation  darkened 
into  anxiety,  anxiety  into  dread,  and  dread  into  despair ! 
Alas  !  not  one  memento  shall  ever  return  for  love  to  cher- 
ish.   All  that  shall  ever  be  known  is,  that  she  sailed  from 

30  her  port,  "  and  was  never  heard  of  more." 

The  sight  of  the  wreck,  as  usual,  gave  rise  to  many 
dismal  anecdotes.  This  was  particularly  the  case  in  the 
evening,  when  the  weather,  which  had  hitherto  been  fair, 
began  to  look  wild  and  threatening,  and  gave  indications 

35  of  one  of  those  sudden  storms,  that  will  sometimes  break 
in  upon  the  serenity  of  a  summer  voyage.     As  we  sat 


.■&/'■' no) 


IHILLARD'sySIXTirv  READER.       :     <"^'i''  119 

V     -  - 

round  the  dull  light  of  a  lamp  in  the  cabin,  that  made  the 
gloom  more  ghastly,  every  one  had  his  tale  of  shipwreck 
and  disast<^r.  I  was  particularly  struck  with  a  short  one 
related  by  the  captain. 
5  "As  I  was  once  sailing,"  said  he,  *'in  a  fine,  stout 
ship,  across  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  one  of  the  heavy 
fogs,  that  prevail  in  those  parts,  rendered  it  impossible  for 
me  to  see  far  ahead,  even  in  the  daytime ;  but  at  night 
the  weather  was  so  thick  that  we  could  not  distinguish 

10  any  object  at  twice  the  length  of  our  ship.  I  kept  lights 
at  the  mast-head,  and  a  constant  watch  forward  to  look 
out  for  fishing- smacks,  which  are  accustomed  to  lie  at 
anchor  on  the  banks.  The  wind  was  blowing  a  smacking 
breeze,  and  we  were  going  at  a  great  rate  through  the 

15  water.  Suddenly  the  watch  gave  the  alarm  of  '  a  sail 
ahead ! '  but  it  was  scarcely  uttered  till  we  were  upon  her. 
She  was  a  small  schooner  at  anchor,  with  her  broadside 
towards  us.  The  crew  were  all  asleep,  and  had  neglected 
to  hoist  a  light.     We  struck  her  just  amidships.     The 

20  force,  the  size  and  weight  of  our  vessel,  bore  her  down 
below  the  waves;  we  passed  over  her,  and  were  hurried 
on  our  course. 

"As  the  crashing  wreck  was  sinking  beneath  us,  I  had 
a  glimpse  of  two  or  three  half-naked  wretches  rushing 

25  from  her  cabin ;  they  had  just  started  from  their  beds  to 
be  swallowed  shrieking  by  the  waves.  I  heard  their  drown- 
ing cry  mingling  with  the  wind.  The  blast  that  bore  it 
to  our  ears  swept  us  out  of  all  further  hearing.  I  shall 
never  forget  that  cry !     It  was  some  time  before  we  could 

30  put  the  ship  about,  she  was  under  such  headway.  We 
returned,  as  nearly  as  we  could  guess,  to  the  place  where 
the  smack  was  anchored.  We  cruised  about  for  several 
hours  in  the  dense  fog.  We  fired  several  guns,  and  lis- 
tened if  we  might  hear  the  halloo  of  any  survivors ;  but 

35  fl\  was  silent  —  we  never  heard  nor  saw  anything  of  them 
*feore ! " 


120  hill.uid's  sixth  reader. 

It  was  a  fine  sunny  morning  when  the  thrilling  cry  of 
"land !  "  was  given  from  the  mast-head.  1  question  whether 
Columbus,  when  he  discovered  the  New  World,  felt  a  more 
delicious  throng  of  sensations,  than  rush  into  an  Ameri- 
5  can's  bosom  when  he  first  comes  in  sight  of  Europe.  There 
is  a  volume  of.  associations  in  the  very  name.  It  is  the 
land  of  promise,  teeming  with  everything  of  which  his 
childhood  has  heard,  or  on  which  his  studious  years  have 
pondered. 

10  From  that  time  until  the  period  of  arrival,  it  was 
all  feverish  excitement.  The  ships  of  war,  that  prowled 
like  guardian  giants  around  the  coast ;  the  headlands  of 
Ireland,  stretching  out  into  the  channel ;  the  Welsh  moun- 
tains, towering  into  the  clouds ;  all  were  objects  of  intense 

15  interest.  As  we  sailed  up  the  Mersey,  I  reconnoitred  the 
shores  with  a  telescope.  My  eye  dwelt  with  delight  on 
neat  cottages,  with  their  trim  shrubberies  and  green  grass- 
plots.  I  saw  the  mouldering  ruins  of  an  abbey  overrun 
with  ivy,  and  the  taper  spire  of  a  village  church  rising 

20  from  the  brow  of  a  neighboring  hill  —  all  were  character- 
istic of  England. 


XXXVI.  —  SLAVEEY. 

COWPER. 


[William  Cowper  was  born  at  Berkhampstead,  in  Hertfordshire,  England, 
November  26,  1731,  and  died  April  25,  1800.  He  was  of  an  extremely  delicate 
and  sensitive  organization ;  and  he  had  the  misfortune,  when  only  six  years 
old,  to  lose  an  aflfectionate  mother,  whom  lie  has  commemorated  in  one  of  the 
most  popular  and  beautiful  of  his  poems.  He  was  educated  at  Westminster 
school,  where  his  gentle  nature  suflfered  much  at  the  hands  of  older  and  rougher 
lads.  He  spent  some  time  In  the  study  of  the  law,  and  was  called  to  the  bar ; 
but  his  morbid  temperament  was  found  unequal  to  the  discharge  of  profes- 
sional and  official  duties.  He  declined  the  struggles  and  the  prizes  of  an  active 
career,  and  retired  into  the  country,  to  a  life  of  seclusion ;  living  for  many 
years  in  the  fimily  of  Mr.  Unwin,  an  English  clergyman.  His  first  volume  of 
poems,  containing  "  Table  Talk,"  "  Hope,"  "  The  Progress  of  Error,"  "Char- 
ity," &c.,  was  published  in  1782,  when  he  was  fifty-one  years  old.  It  rarely 
happens  that  a  poet's  first  appearance  is  so  late  in  life.    This  volume  did  not 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  121 

attract  much  attention.  But  in  1784  he  published  "  The  Task,"  which  was 
received  with  much  more  favor.  Its  vigorous  and  manly  style,  its  encrg-etic 
moral  tone,  and  its  charming  pictures  of  natural  scenery  and  domestic  life, 
were  soon  appreciated,  although  the  general  taste,  at  that  time,  preferred  a 
more  artificial  style  of  poetry.  After  the  publication  of  "  The  Task,"  he  spent 
some  years  upon  a  translation  of  Homer  into  blank  verse,  published  in  1791. 

Many  of  Cowper's  smaller  pieces  still  enjoy  great  and  deserved  popularity. 
Like  many  men  of  habitual  melancholy,  he  had  a  vein  of  humor  running 
through  his  nature.  His  "John  Gilpin"  is  a  well-known  instance  of  this  ; 
and  the  same  quality  throws  a  frequent  charm  over  his  correspondence.  Cow- 
per's life  is  full  of  deep  and  sad  interest.  His  mind  was  more  than  once  eclipsed 
by  insanity,  and  often  darkened  by  melancholy.  He  had  tender  and  loving 
friends,  who  watched  over  him  with  affectionate  and  untiring  interest.  His 
most  intimate  friendships  were  with  women ;  and  there  is  a  striking  contrast 
between  the  masculine  vigor  of  his  style  and  his  feminine  habits  and  manner 
of  life. 

His  letters  are  perhaps  the  best  in  the  language.  They  are  not  superior,  as 
intellectual  efforts,  to  those  of  Gray,  Walpole,  Byron,  or  Scott ;  but  they  have 
in  the  highest  degree  that  conversational  ease  and  playful  grace  which  we  most 
desire  in  this  class  of  writings.  They  are  not  epistolary  essays,  but  genuine 
letters  —  the  unstudied  effusions  of  the  heart,  meant  for  no  eye  but  that  of  the 
person  to  whom  they  are  addressed.  Cowper's  life  has  been  written,  and  his 
poems  and  prose  writings  edited,  by  Southey ;  and  they  form  a  work  of  great 
interest  and  permanent  value  in  literature.] 

0  FOR  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade, 
Where  rumor  of  oppression  and  deceit, 
Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  war, 
5  Might  never  reach  me  more.     My  ear  is  pained, 
My  soul  is  sick,  with  every  day's  report 
Of  wrong  and  outrage  with  which  earth  is  filled. 
.  There  is  no  flesh  in  man's  obdurate  heart. 
It  does  not  feel  for  man ;  the  natural  bond 

10  Of  brotherhood  is  severed  as  the  flax 
That  falls  asunder  at  the  touch  of  fire. 
He  finds  his  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin 
Not  colored  like  his  own  ;  and  having  power 
To  enforce  the  wrong,  for  such  a  worthy  cause 

15  Dooms  and  devotes  him  as  his  lawful  prey. 
Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.     Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  drops  been  melted  into  one. 
11 


122       hillard's  sixth  Dreader. 

Thus  man  devotes  his  brother,  and  destroys ; 
And,  worse  than  all,  and  most  to  be  deplored, 
As  human  nature's  broadest,  foulest  blot, 
Chains  him,  and  tasks  him,  and  exacts  his  sweat 
5  With  stripes  that  Mercy,  with  a  bleeding  heart, 
Weeps  when  she  sees  inflicted  on  a  beast. 
Then  what  is  man  ?    And  what  man,  seeing  this, 
And  having  human  feelings,  does  not  blush, 
And  hang  his  head,  to  think  himself  a  man  ? 

10  I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  till  my  ground, 
To  carry  me,  to  fan  me  while  I  sleep, 
And  tremble  when  I  wake,  for  all  the  wealth 
That  sinews  bought  and  sold  have  ever  earned. 
No :  dear  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  heart's 

15  Just  estimation  prized  above  all  price, 
I  had  much  rather  be  myself  the  slave, 
And  wear  the  bonds,  than  fasten  them  on  him. 
We  have  no  slaves  at  home  —  then  why  abroad?' 
And  they  themselves  once  ferried  o'er  the  wave 

20  That  parts  us,  are  emancipate  and  loosed. 

Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England ;  if  their  lungs 
Receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  free ; 
They  touch  our  country,  and  their  shackles  fall. 
That 's  noble,  and  bespeaks  a  nation  proud 

25  And  jealous  of  the  blessing.     Spread  it  then, 
And  let  it  circulate  through  every  vein 
Of  all  your  empire ;  that  where  Britain's  power 
Is  felt,  mankind  may  feel  her  mercy  too. 


XXXVIL  — CHAEGE   OE   THE  LIGHT  BEIGADE. 

Tennyson. 
[Alfred  Tennyson,  a  living'  poet  of  England,  was  born  at  Somersby,  Lin- 
colnshire, in  1810.    He  has  published  two  volumes  of  miscellaneous  poetry ; 
also,  "  The  Princess,"  a  narrative,  in  blank  verse ;  a  volume  called  "  In  Memo- 
riam  j "  "  Maud,"  in  which  an  unhappy  love  story  is  told  in  a  broken  and  frag- 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  123 


mentary  way;  and  *'  Idyls  of  the  King,"  comprising'  four  poems  founded  on 
the  legends  of  King  Arthur. 

He  is  a  man  of  rare  and  fine  genius,  whose  poetry  is  addressed  to  refined  and 
cultivated  minds.  The  music  of  his  verse  and  his  skill  in  the  use  of  language 
are  alike  excellent.  He  is  a  poet  of  poets  ;  and,  in  general,  is  only  fully  ap- 
preciated by  those  who  have  something  of  the  poetical  faculty  themselves. 
He  is  more  valued  by  women  than  by  men,  and  by  young  men  than  by  old. 
He  is  evidently  a  man  of  the  finest  organization,  and  his  poetry  is  of  the  most 
exquisite  and  etherial  cast.  He  has  an  uncommon  power  of  presenting  pictures 
to  the  eye,  and  often  in  a  very  few  words.  His  pages  are  crowded  with  sub- 
jects for  the  artist.  A  portion  of  what  he  has  written  is  rather  remote  from  the 
beaten  track  of  human  sympathies  and  feelings ;  but  that  he  can  write  popular 
poetry  is  shown  by  his  well-known  •'  May  Queen." 

His  volume  called  "  In  Memoriam,"  is  a  very  remarkable  book.  It  is  a  col- 
lection of  one  hundred  and  twenty-nine  short  poems,  written  in  a  peculiar  and 
uniform  metre,  which  were  called  forth  by  the  early  death  of  Arthur  Henry 
Hallam,  the  eldest  son  of  the  historian,  a  young  man  of  rare  excellence  of 
mind  and  character,  the  intimate  friend  of  Tennyson,  and  betrothed  to  his 
sister.  Such  a  book  will  not  be  welcome  to  all  minds,  nor  to  any  mind  at  all 
periods  and  in  all  moods  ;  but  it  contains  some  of  the  most  exquisite  poetry 
which  has  been  written  in  our  times,  and  some  of  the  deepest  and  sweetest 
effusions  of  feeling  to  be  found  anywhere. 

The  following  spirited  poem  commemorates  a  gallant  and  desperate  charge 
made  by  a  brigade  of  English  light-horse  at  the  battle  of  Balaklava,  in  the  Cri- 
mea, October  25,  1854,  under  circumstances  that  seemed  to  insure  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  whole  body.  The  order  to  charge  was  supposed  to  have  been  given 
under  a  mistake ;  but  nothing  was  ever  distinctly  known  about  it,  as  Captain 
Nolan,  who  delivered  it,  was  the  first  man  who  fell.  Of  six  hundred  and  thirty 
who  started  on  the  charge  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  returned.] 


Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 
Half  a  league  onward, 

All  in  the  valley  of  death 
Eode  the  six  hundred. 

"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade ! 

Charge  for  the  guns !  "  he  said. 

Into  the  valley  of  death, 
Eode  the  six  hundred. 

"  Forward  the  Light  Brigade !  " 
"Was  there  a  man  dismayed  ? 
Not  though  the  soldiers  knew 

Some  one  had  blundered ; 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die : 


124  hillard's  sixth  readeiu 

Into  the  valley  of  death 
Kode  the  six  hundred. 

3  Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  loft  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered : 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well ; 
Into  the  jaws  of  death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell, 

Kode  the  six  hundred. 

4  Plashed  all  their  sahres  hare, 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air, 
Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered : 
Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke. 
Eight  through  the  line  they  broke ; 
Cossack  and  Eussian 
Eeeled  from  the  sabre-stroke, 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not, 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

5  Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  behind  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered : 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
"While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
They  that  had  fought  so  well, 
,  Came  through  the  jaws  of  death. 

Back  from  the  mouth  of  hell. 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 


hillard's  sixth  keader.  125 

When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
0,  the  wild  charge  they  made  I 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made  I 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Nohle  six  hundred ! 


XXXYIII.  — UNION  AND  LIBEETY. 
O.  W.  Holmes. 

Flag  of  the  heroes  who  left  us  their  glory, 

Borne  through  our  battle-field's  thunder  and  flame, 
Blazoned  in  song  and  illumined  in  story, 
Wave  o'er  us  all  who  inherit  their  fame  ! 

Up  with  our  banner  bright, 

Sprinkled  with  starry  light. 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore ; 

While  through  the  sounding  sky. 

Loud  rings  the  nation's  cry,  — 
Union  and  Liberty  !  —  one  evermore  ! 

Light  of  our  firmament,  guide  of  our  nation, 
Pride  of  her  children,  and  honored  afar, 

Let  the  wide  beams  of  thy  full  constellation 
Scatter  each  cloud  that  would  darken  a  star ! 

Empire  unsceptred !  what  foe  shall  assail  thee, 

Bearing  the  standard  of  Liberty's  van  ? 
Think  not  the  God  of  thy  fathers  shall  fail  thee, 

Striving  with  men  for  the  birthright  of  man  ! 

Yet,  if  by  madness  and  treachery  blighted, 

Dawns  the  dark  hour  when  the  sword  thou  must  draw, 
11* 


126  HILLARD*S    SIXTH   READER. 

Then,  with  the  arms  of  thy  millions  united, 
Smite  the  bold  traitors  to  Freedom  and  Law  ! 

5    Lord  of  the  Universe !  shield  us  and  guide  us, 

Trusting  Thee  always,  through  shadow  and  sun ! 
Thou  hast  united  us,  who  shall  divide  us  ? 

Keep  us,  0  keep  us,  the  Many  in  One ! 
Up  with  our  banner  bright. 
Sprinkled  with  starry  light. 

Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore; 
"While  through  the  sounding  sky, 
Loud  rings  the  nation's  cry,  — 

Union  and  Liberty  !  —  one  evermore ! 


XXXIX.  — DIALOaUE   rK0M  IVANHGE. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

[The  following  scene  is  taken  from  "  Ivanhoe,"  a  novel,  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  in  England,  in  the  twelfth  century.  Ivanhoe,  an  English  knight,  is 
lying  wounded  and  a  captive  in  the  Castle  of  Front^de-Boeuf,  a  Norman  knight, 
while  it  is  undergoing  an  assault  from  a  party  of  outlawed  forest  rangers, 
aided  by  an  unknown  knight  in  black  armor,  hence  called  the  Black  Knight, 
who  afterwards  turns  out  to  be  Richard,  King  of  England.  Rebecca  is  a  young 
Jewish  maiden.] 

Following  with  wonderful  promptitude  the  directions 
of  Ivanhoe,  and  availing  herself  of  the  protection  of  the 
large  ancient  shield,  which  she  placed  against  the  lower 
part  of  the  window,  Eebecca,  with  tolerable  security  to 
5  herself,  could  witness  part  of  what  was  passing  without 
the  castle,  and  report  to  Ivanhoe  the  preparations  which 
the  assailants  were  making  for  the  storm. 

"  The  skirts  of  the  wood  seem  lined  with'  archers,  al- 
though only  a  few  are  advanced  from  its  dark  shadow." 
10       "  Under  what  banner  ?  "  asked  Ivanhoe. 

"  Under  no  ensign  of  war  which  I  can  observe,"  an- 
swered Kebecca. 


VJl 


IXTH  MADER.      ^  127 


igular  novelty,"  muttered  the  knight,  "to  ad- 

lee  to  storm  such  a  castle  without  pennon  or  banner  dis- 

Dlayed  !  —  Seest  thou  who  they  be  that  act  as  leaders  ?  " 

"  A  knight,  clad  in  sable  armor,  is  the  most  conspicu- 

5  ous,"  said  the  Jewess;  "  he  alone  is  armed  from  head  to 

heel,  and  seems  to  assume  the  direction  of  all  around 

"What  device  does  he  bear  on  his  shield?"  replied 
Ivanhoe." 
10       "  Something  resembling  a  bar  of  iron,  and  a  padlock 
painted  blue  on  the  black  shield." 

"  A  fetterlock  and  shacklebolt  azure,"  said  Ivanhoe ; 
"  I  know  not  who  may  bear  the  device,  but  well  I  ween 
it  might  now  be  mine  own.      Canst  thou  not   see  the 
15  motto?" 

**  Scarce  the  device  itself,  at  this  distance,"  replied  Ee- 
becca ;  **  but  when  the  sun  glances  fair  upon  his  shield,  it 
shows  as  I  tell  you." 

"  Seem  there  no  other  leaders  ?  "  exclaimed  the  anxious 
20  inquirer. 

**  None  of  mark  and  distinction  that  I  can  behold  from 
this  station,"  said  Kebecca;  "but,  doubtless,  the  other 
side  of  the  castle  is  also  assailed.  They  appear  even  now 
preparing  to  advance." 
25  Her  description  was  here  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
signal  for  assault,  which  was  given  by  the  blast  of  a  shrill 
bugle,  and  at  once  answered  by  a  flourish  of  the  Norman 
trumpets  from  the  battlements. 

"  And  I  must  lie  here  like  a  bedridden  monk,"  ex- 
30  claimed  Ivanhoe,  "  while  the  game  that  gives  me  freedom 
or  death  is  plafyed  out  by  the  hand  of  others !  —  Look 
from  the  window  once  again,  kind  maiden,  —  but  beware 
that  you  are  not  marked  by  the  archers  beneath,  —  look 
out  once  more,  and  tell  me  if  they  yet  advance  to  the 
35  storm." 

With    patient    courage,  strengthened    by  the  interval 


128  iiillakd's  sixth  reader. 

which  she  had  employed  in  mental  devotion,  Eebecca 
again  took  post  at  the  lattice,  sheltering  herself,  however, 
so  as  not  to  be  visible  from  beneath. 

"  What  dost  thou  see,  Eebecca?"  again  demanded  the 
5  wounded  knight. 

"  Nothing  but  the  cloud  of  arrows  flying  so  thick  as  to 
dazzle  mine  eyes,  and  to  hide  the  bowmen  who  shoot 
them." 

"That  cannot  endure,"  said  Ivanhoe;  "if  they  press 
10  not  right  on  to  carry  the  castle  by  pure  force  of  arms,  the 
archery  may  avail  but  little  against  stone  walls  and  bul- 
warks. Look  for  the  Knight  of  the  Fetterlock,  fair  Ee- 
becca, and  see  how  he  bears  himself;  for,  as  the  leader  is, 
80  will  his  followers  be." 
15       **  I  see  him  not,"  said  Eebecca. 

"Foul  craven!"  exclaimed  Ivanhoe;  "does  he  blench 
from  the  helm  when  the  wind  blows  highest  ?  " 

"He  blenches  not!  he  blenches  not!"  said  Eebecca; 
"I  see  him  now ;  he  leads  a  body  of  men  close  under  the 
20  outer  barrier  of  the  barbican.     They  pull  down  the  piles 
and  palisades ;   they  hew  down  the  barriers  with  axes. 
His  high  black  plume  floats  abroad  over  the  throng,  like 
a  raven  over  the  field  of  the  slain.     They  have  made  a 
breach  in  the  barriers  —  they  rush  in  —  they  are  thrust 
25  back!  —  Front-de-Boeuf  =-•*  heads  the  defenders; — I  see  his 
gigantic  form  above  the  press.     They  throng  again  to  the 
breach,  and  the  pass  is  disputed  hand  to  hand,  and  man 
to  man.     It  is  the  meeting  of  two  fierce  tides  —  the  con- 
flict of  two  oceans,  moved  by  adverse  winds !  " 
30       She   turned  her  head  from  the  lattice,   as  if  unable 
longer  to  endure  a  sight  so  terrible. 

"  Look  forth  again,  Eebecca,"  said  Ivanhoe,  mistaking 
the  cause  of  her  retiring;  "the  archery  must  in  some 
degree  have  ceased,  since  they  are  now  fighting  hand  to 
35  hand.     Look  again ;  there  is  now  less  danger." 
♦Fronounced  rr6n(g)-dti-Buf. 


hillarb's  sixth  reader.  129 

Kebecca  again  looked  forth,  and  almost  immediately  ex- 
claimed :  — 

"  Front-de-Boeuf  and  the  Black  Knight  fight  hand  to 
hand  on  the  breach,  amid  the  roar  of  their  followers,  who 
6  watch  the  progress  of  the  strife.     Heaven  strike  with  the 
cause  of  the  oppressed,  and  of  the  captive  !  " 

She  then  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  exclaimed :  — 
**  He  is  down  !  —  he  is  down ! " 

**  Who  is  down  ?  "  cried  Ivanhoe.    "  For  our  dear  lady's 
10  sake,  tell  me  which  has  fallen  ?  " 

"The  Black  Knight,"  answered' Eebecca,  faintly;  then 
instantly  again  shouted,  with  joyful  eagerness,  —  '*  But 
no  —  but  no !  —  he  is  on  foot  again,  and  fights  as  if  there 
were  twenty  men's  strength  in  his  single  arm  —  his  sword 
15  is  broken — he  snatches  an  axe  from  a  yeoman — he  presses 
Front-de-Boeuf  with  blow  on  blow — the  giant  stoops  and 
totters,  like  an  oak  under  the  steel  of  the  woodman — he 
falls  — befalls!" 

"Front-de-Boeuf?"  exclaimed  Ivanhoe. 
20       "  Front-de-Boeuf !  "  answered  the  Jewess.     "  His  men 
rush  to  the  rescue,  headed  by  the  haughty  Templar — • 
their  united  force  compels  the  champion  to  pause — they 
drag  Front-de-Boeuf  within  the  walls." 

**  The  assailants  have  won  the  barriers,  have  they  not  ?  " 
25  said  Ivanhoe. 

**  They  have  —  they  have  !  "  exclaimed  Kebecca  "and 
they  press  the  beseiged  hard  upon  the  outer  wall ;  some 
plant  ladders,  some  swarm  like  bees,  and  endeavor  to 
ascend  upon  the  shoulders  of  each  other — down  go  stones, 
30  beams,  and  trunks  of  trees  upon  their  heads,  and  as  fast 
as  they  bear  the  wounded  men  to  the  rear,  fresh  men  sup- 
ply their  place  in  the  assault.  Great  God!  hast  thou 
given  men  thine  own  image,  that  it  should  be  thus  cruelly 
defaced  by  the  hands  of  their  brethren  !  " 
85  "Think  not  of  that,"  said  Ivanhoe;  "this  is  no  time 
for  such  thoughts.    Who  yield  ?  —  who  push  their  way  ?  " 


130  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

**  The  ladders  are  thrown  down,"  replied  Eebecca,  shud- 
dering. **  The  soldiers  lie  grovelling  under  them  like 
crushed  reptiles  —  the  besieged  have  the  better  !  " 

**  Saint  George  strike  for  us !  "  exclaimed  the  knight ; 
1  do  the  false  yeomen  give  way  ?  " 

rv"  No  !  "   exclaimed   Kebecca ;    **  they  bear  themselves 
TOTight  yeomanly  —  the  Black  Knight  approaches  the  pos- 
tern with  his  huge  axe  —  the  thundering  blows  which  he 
deals,  you  may  hear  them  above  all  the  din  and  shouts  of 
\  \  v  10  the  battle  —  stones  and  beams  are  hailed  down  on  the  bold 
\  champion  —  he  regards  them  no  more  than  if  they  were 

^  thistledown  or  feathers  !  " 

**  By  Saint  John  of  Acre  ! "  said  Ivanhoe,  raising  him- 
self joyfully  on  his  couch  ;  "  methought  there  was  but  one 
15  man  in  England  that  might  do  such  a  deed  !  " 

"  The  postern  gate  shakes,"  continued  Kebecca ;  "  it 
crashes  —  it  is  splintered  by  his  blows  —  they  rush  in  — 
the  outwork  is  won  —  they  hurl  the  defenders  from  the 
battlements  —  they  throw  them  into  the  moat !  Oh,  men, 
20  —  if  ye  be  indeed  men,  —  spare  them  that  can  resist  no 
longer ! " 

"  The  bridge,  —  the  bridge  which  communicates  with  the 
castle,  —  have  they  won  that  pass  ?  "  exclaimed  Ivanhoe. 
"No,"  replied  Kebecca;   "the  Templar  has  destroyed 
25  the  plank  on  which  they  crossed  —  few  of  the  defenders 
escaped  with  him  into  the  castle  —  the  shrieks  and  cries 
which  you  hear,  tell  the  fate  of  the  others  !     Alas  !  I  see 
it  is  still  more  difficult  to  look  upon  victory  than  upon 
battle ! " 
80       "What  do  they  now,  maiden?"  said  Ivanhoe;  "look 
forth  yet  again  —  this  is  no  time  to  faint  at  bloodshed." 

"It  is  over  for  the  time,"  answered  Kebecca.  "Our 
friends  strengthen  themselves  within  the  outwork  which 
they  have  mastered,  and  it  affords  them  so  good  a  shelter 
35  from  the  foeman's  shot,  that  the  garrison  only  bestow  a 
few  bolts  on  it,  from  interval  to  interval,  as  if  rather  to 
disquiet  than  effectually  to  injure  them." 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  131 

XL.  — THE  PEOGEESS   OF   SOCIETY. 

Channing. 

"^  [William  Elleey  Channing  was  born  at  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  April 
7,  1780,  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1798,  and  died  October  2,  1842. 
He  was  settled  as  a  clergyman  over  the  church  in  Federal  Street,  Boston,  in 
1803,  and  continued  in  that  relation  till  his  death.  His  works,  which  consist 
of  sermons,  occasional  discourses,  essays,  and  reviews,  all  have  a  common  re- 
semblance, and  tend  towards  a  common  object.  They  set  forth  the  dignity  of 
man's  nature,  his  capacity  for  improvement,  the  beauty  of  spiritual  truth,  and 
the  charm  of  spiritual  freedom ;  and  press  upon  the  attention  of  man  those 
views  and  considerations  which  should  induce  him  to  be  true  to  his  destiny, 
and  to  obey  his  highest  aspirations.  Some  of  his  earlier  writings  were  con- 
troversial ;  but  controversy  was  not  the  element  in  which  his  mind  most  gladly 
moved  ;  and  he  preferred  to  unfold  those  truths  in  morals  and  religion  which 
are  felt  and  recognized  by  all  Christians.  In  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  his 
mind  was  more  turned  towards  practical  subjects.  He  wrote  upon  war,  tem- 
perance, popular  education,  the  duties  of  the  rich  towards  the  poor,  and  es- 
pecially upon  slavery.  Upon  this  last  subject,  his  writings  are  marked  by  a 
fervor  and  earnestness  which  meet  the  claims  of  the  most  zealous  opponent 
of  slavery,  and  yet  are  free  from  anything  vituperative  or  needlessly  irritating. 
•  Dr.  Channing's  style  is  admirably  suited  for  the  exposition  of  moral  and 
spiritual  truth.  It  is  rich,  flowing,  and  perspicuous  ;  even  its  diffuseness,  which 
is  its  obvious  literary  defect,  is  no  disadvantage  in  this  aspect.  There  is  a  per- 
suasive charm  over  all  his  writings,  flowing  from  his  earnestness  of  purpose, 
his  deep  love  of  humanity,  his  glowing  hopes,  and  his  fervent  religious  faith. 
He  has  a  poet's  love  of  beauty  and  a  prophet's  love  of  truth.  He  lays  the 
richest  of  gifts  upon  the  purest  of  altars.  The  heart  expands  under  his  influ- 
ence, as  it  does  when  we  see  a  beautiful  countenance  beaming  with  the  finest 
expression  of  benevolence  and  sympathy. 

I  He  was  a  man  of  slight  frame  and  delicate  organization.  His  manner  in  the 
pulpit  was  simple  and  impressive ;  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  were  full  of 
sweetness  and  penetrating  power.  As  a  speaker  he  may  not  have  produced 
the  greatest  effect  upon  those  who  heard  him  for  the  first  time,  but  all  who 
were  accustomed  to  his  teachings  recognized  in  him  the  elements  of  the  high- 
est eloquence. 
The  following  extract  is  the  conclusion  of  a  lecture  on  "  Self-Culture,"] 

What  a  contrast  does  the  present  form  with  past  times ! 
Not  many  ages  ago  the  nation  was  the  property  of  one 
man,  and  all  its  interests  were  staked  in  perpetual  games 
of  war,  for  no  end  but  to  build  up  his  family,  or  to  bring 
5  new  territories  under  his  yoke.  Society  was  divided  into 
two  classes,  the  high-born  and  the  vulgar,  separated  from 
one  another  by  a  great  gulf,  as  impassable  as  that  between 
the  saved  and  the  lost.  The  people  had  no  significance  as 
individuals,  but  formed  a  mass,  a  machine,  to  be  wielded 


132  hillard's  sixth  reader." 

at  pleasure  by  their  lords.  In  war,  wLich  was  the  great 
sport  of  the  times,  those  brave  knights,  of  whose  prowess 
we  hear,  cased  themselves  and  their  horses  in  armor,  so  as 
to  be  almost  invulnerable,  whilst  the  common  people  on 
5  foot,  were  left,  without  protection,  to  be  hewn  in  pieces  or 
trampled  down  by  their  betters. 

Who,  that  compares  the  condition  of  Europe  a  few  years 
ago,  with  the  present  state  of  the  world,  but  must  bless 
God  for  the  change.     The  grand  distinction  of  modem 

10  times,  is  the  emerging  of  the  people  from  brutal  degrada- 
tion, the  gradual  recognition  of  their  rights,  the  gradual 
diffusion  among  them  of  the  means  of  improvement  and 
happiness,  the  creation  of  a  new  power  in  the  state,  the 
power  of  the  people.    And  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  this 

15  revolution  is  due  in  a  great  degree  to  religion,  which,  in 
the  hands  of  the  crafty  and  aspiring,  had  bowed  the  mul- 
titude to  the  dust,  but  which,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  be- 
gan to  fulfil  its  mission  of  freedom. 

It  was  religion,  which,  by  teaching  men  their  near  re- 

20  lation  to  God,  awakened  in  them  the  consciousness  of  their 
importance  as  individuals.  It  was  the  struggle  for  relig- 
ious rights,  which  opened  men's  eyes  to  all  their  rights. 
It  was  resistance  to  religious  usurpation,  which  led  men 
to  withstand  political  oppression.     It  was  religious  dis- 

25  cussion,  which  roused  the  minds  of  all  classes  to  free  and 
vigorous  thought.  It  was  religion,  which  armed  the  mar- 
tyr and  patriot  in  England  against  arbitrary  power,  which 
braced  the  spirits  of  our  fathers  against  the  perils  of  the 
ocean  and  wilderness,  and  sent  them  to  found  here  the 

30  freest  and  most  equal  state  on  earth. 

Let  us  thank  God  for  what  has  been  gained.  But  let  us 
not  think  everything  gained.  Let  the  people  feel  that  they 
have  only  started  in  the  race.  How  much  remains  to  be 
d(me  I     What  a  vast  amount  of  ignorance,  intemperance, 

35  coarseness,  sensuality,  may  still  be  found  in  our  commu- 
nity !     What  a  vast  amount  of  mind  is  palsied  and  lost ! 


HILLAED^S   SIXTH  EEADER.  133 

"When  we  think,  that  every  house  might  he  cheered  by 
intelligence,  disinterestedness,  and  refinement,  and  then 
remember,  in  how  many  houses  the  higher  powers  and  af- 
fections of  human  nature  are  buried  as  in  tombs,  what  a 
6  darkness  gathers  over  society !  And  how  few  of  us  are 
moved  by  this  moral  desolation !  How  few  understand, 
that  to  raise  the  depressed,  by  a  wise  culture,  to  the  dignity 
of  men,  is  the  highest  end  of  the  social  state  !  Shame  on 
us,  that  the  worth  of  a  fellow-creature  is  so  little  felt ! 

10  I  would  that  I  could  speak  with  an  awakening  voice  to 
the  people,  of  their  wants,  their  privileges,  their  responsi- 
bilities. I  would  say  to  them  :  You  cannot,  without  guilt 
and  disgrace,  stop  where  you  are.  The  past  and  the  present 
call  on  you  to  advance.     Let  what  you  have  gained  be  an 

15  impulse  to  something  higher.  Your  nature  is  too  great  to 
be  crushed.  You  were  not  created  what  you  are,  merely  to 
toil,  eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  like  the  inferior  animals.  If  you 
will,  you  can  rise.  No  power  in  society,  no  hardship  in  your 
condition  can  depress  you,  keep  you  down,  in  knowledge, 

20  power,  virtue,  influence,  but  by  your  own  consent.  Do  not 
be  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  flatteries  which  you  hear,  as  if  your 
participation  in  the  national  sovereignty  made  you  equal  to 
the  noblest  of  your  race.  You  have  many  and  great  defi- 
ciencies to  be  remedied ;  and  the  remedy  lies,  not  in  the 

25  ballot-box,  not  in  the  exercise  of  your  political  powers,  but 
in  the  faithful  education  of  yourselves  and  your  children. 
These  truths  you  have  often  heard  and  slept  over.  Awake  ! 
Eesolve  earnestly  on  self-culture.  Make  yourselves  worthy 
of  your  free  institutions,  and  strengthen  and  perpetuate 
them  by  your  intelligence  and  your  virtues. 


XLL  — HUBERT   AND   ARTHUK. 

Shakspeare. 
[William  Shakspeare  was  born  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  England, 
April  23, 1564,  and  died  April  23, 1616.    Very  little  is  known  of  the  events  of 

12 


134  '   hillard's  sixth  reader. 

his  life,  and  of  his  personal  character  and  habits.  He  married  yoirag",  went  to 
London  soon  after  his  marriage,  became  an  actor,  a  dramatic  author,  and  a 
shareholder  in  one  of  the  London  theatres ;  acquired  considerable  property, 
and  retired  to  his  native  place  a  few  years  before  his  death,  and  there  lived  in 
ease  and  honor.  He  was  the  author  of  thirty-five  plays,  (rejecting  those  of 
doubtful  authenticity,)  written  between  1690  and  1613,  besides  poems  and  son- 
nets. 

Shakspeare  is  pronounced  by  Mr.  Hallam,  who  was  a  most  conscientious 
critic  and  careful  writer,  to  be  the  greatest  name  in  all  literature.  It  would, 
of  course,  be  impossible,  in  the  compass  of  a  notice  like  this,  to  do  anything 
like  justice  to  the  universality  of  his  powers,  his  boundless  fertility  of  inven- 
tion, his  dramatic  judgment,  his  wit,  humor,  and  pathos,  his  sharp  observa- 
tion, and  his  profound  knowledge  of  the  human  heart.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  point 
out  to  the  young  reader,  within  a  reasonable  compass,  the  best  sources  of  In- 
formation and  criticism ;  for  the  editions  of  Shakspeare  are  numberless,  and 
•the  books  that  have  been  written  about  him  would  alone  make  a  considerable 
library.  The  following  works,  however,  may  be  read  and  consulted  with  profit : 
Drake's  "Shakspeare  and  his  Times,"  "  Hazlitt's  Lectures,"  Mrs.  Jameson's 
**  Characteristics  of  Women,"  Dr.  Johnson's  preface,  Schlegel's  "  Lectures  on 
Dramatic  Literature,"  Coleridge's  "  Lectures  on  Shakspeare,"  the  notes  and 
introductory  notices  in  Knight's  pictorial  edition,  together  with  the  biography 
prefixed,  and,  especially,  the  criticism  upon  Shakspeare  contained  in  Hallam's 
Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  in  the  fifteenth,  sixteenth,  and  sev- 
enteenth centuries. 

t  Shakspeare's  life  and  writings  teach  two  lessons ;  which,  as  they  are  not 
very  obvious  to  the  apprehension  of  the  young,  and  as  they  have  a  somewhat 
practical  bearing  upon  life,  may  be  here  set  down.  He  is  an  instance  directly 
opposed  to  the  Byronic  notion  that  great  genius  and  great  unhappiuess  inva- 
riably go  together.  We  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  his  temperament 
was  cheerful  and  joyous,  and  that  is  certainly  the  spirit  of  his  writings.  He 
is  often  tragic,  but  never  morbid.  In  the  next  place,  Shakspeare  is  a  proof 
that  the  highest  poetical  genius  is  not  inconsistent  with  practical  and  suc- 
cessful business  habits.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  was  himself  an  excel- 
lent man  of  business,  for  he  accumulated  an  ample  fortune  within  a  few  years, 
and  by  occupations  in  which  punctuality,  economy,  and  method  are  particu- 
larly important. 

The  following  scene  is  from  "  King  John."  Arthur,  a  young  boy,  is  lawful 
heir  to  the  crown  of  England,  which  has  been  usurped  by  his  uncle,  the  king, 
who  employs  Hubert  to  put  out  liis  nephew's  eyes.] 

Prince  Arthur,  Hubert,  and  Attendants. 

Scene  —  A  room  in  the  castle,  Northampton. 

Enter  Hubert  and  two  Attendants. 
Hubert.    Heat  me  these  irons  hot ;  and  look  thou  stand 
Within  the  arras :  *  when  I  strike  my  foot 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  rush  forth, 

♦Tapestry,  or  hangings,  for  rooms. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  135 

And  bind  the  boy,  which  you  shall  find  with  me, 
Fast  to  the  chair :  be  heedful :  hence,  and  watch. 

1st  Attendant.    I  hope  your  warrant  will  bear  out  the 

deed. 
Hub.    Uncleanly  scruples!    Tear  not  you:  look  to  't. 

\^Exeunt  Attendants. 
5   Young  lad  come  forth ;  I  have  to  say  with  you. 
Enter  Arthur. 
Arthur.    Good  morrow,  Hubert. 
Hub.  Good  morrow,  little  prince, 

Arth.    As  little  prince,  (having  so  great  a  title 
To  be  more  prince,)  as  may  be.  —  You  are  sad. 
10       Hub.    Indeed,  I  have  been  merrier. 

Arth.  Mercy  on  me! 

Methinks  nobody  should  be  sad  but  I : 
Yet  I  remember  when  I  was  in  France, 
Young  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 
15   Only  for  wantonness.     By  my  Christendom," 
So  I  were  out  of  prison,  and  kept  sheep, 
I  should  be  merry  as  the  day  is  long; 
And  so  I  would  be  here,  but  that  I  doubt 
My  uncle  practises  more  harm  to  me : 
20   He  is  afraid  of  me,  and  I  of  him : 

Is  it  my  fault  that  I  was  Geofi'rey's  son  ? 
No  indeed,  is 't  not ;  and  I  would  to  heaven, 
I  were  your  son,  so  you  would  love  me,  Hubert. 
Hub.    If  I  talk  to  him,  with  his  innocent  prate 
25   He  will  awake  my  mercy,  which  lies  dead : 

Therefore  I  will  be  sudden,  and  despatch.  [A^de. 

Arth.    Are  you  sick,  Hubert  ?  You  look  pale  to-day : 
In  sooth,  I  would  you  were  a  little  sick, 
That  I  might  sit  all  night,  and  watch  with  you : 
30  I  warrant,  I  love  you  more  than  you  do  me. 

Hub.    His  words  do  take  possession  of  my  bosom.  — 

*  Christening,  baptism. 


136  hillaed's  sixth  header. 

Eead  here,  young  Arthur.  [^Showing  a  paper. 

How  now  foolish  rheum ! "  \_Asid4i, 

Turning  dispiteous  f  torture  out  of  door  ! 
I  must  be  brief;  lest  resolution  drop 
5  Out  at  my  eyes,  in  tender  womanish  tears.  — 
Can  you  not  read  it  ?    Is  it  not  fair  writ  ?  * 

Artii.    Too  fairly,  Hubert,  for  so  foul  effect: 
Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes  ? 
Hub.    Young  boy,  I  must. 
10       Arth.  And  will  you? 

Hub.  And  I  will. 

Arth.   Have  you  the  heart?   When  your  head  did  but 
ache, 
I  knit  my  handkerchief  about  your  brows, 
(The  best  I  had,  a  princess  wrought  it  me,) 
15   And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  again : 

And  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  head ; 
And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour, 
Still  and  anon  cheered  up  the  heavy  time ; 
Saying,  What  lack  you?  and.  Where  lies  your  grief? 
20    Or,  What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  you  ? 
Many  a  poor  man's  son  would  h^ve  lain  still, 
And  ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you : 
But  you  at  your  sick  service  had  a  prince. 
Nay,  you  may  think  my  love  was  crafty  love, 
25   And  call  it,  cunning :  do,  an  if  you  will : 

If  Heaven  be  pleased  that  you  must  use  me  ill, 
Why,  then  you  must.  —  Will  you  put  out  mine  eyes  ? 
These  eyes,  that  never  did,  nor  never  shall. 
So  much  as  frown  on  you  ? 
30       Hub.  I  have  sworn  to  do  it ; 

And  with  hot  irons  must  I  burn  them  out. 

Arth.    Ah,  none,  but  in  this  iron  age  would  do  it  I 
The  iron  of  itself,  though  heat  red-hot, 

*  Tears.  *  Unpitying,  cruel. 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  137 

Approaching  near  these  eyes,  would  drink  my  tears, 
And  quench  his  fiery  indignation, 
Even  in  the  matter  of  mine  innocence : 
Nay,  after  that,  consume  away  in  rust, 
5  But  for  containing  fire  to  harm  mine  eye. 
Are  you  more  stubborn-hard  than  hammered  iron  ? 
An  if  an  angel  should  have  come  to  me. 
And  told  me  Hubert  should  put  out  mine  eyes, 
I  would  not  have  believed  no  tongue  but  Hubert's.^ 
1 0       Hub.    Come  forth.  [^Stamps. 

He-enter  Attendants,  with  cord,  irons,  S^c. 
Do  as  I  bid  you  do. 

Arth.    0,  save  me,  Hubert,  save  me !  My  eyes  are  out, 
Even  with  the  fierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men. 
Hub.    Give  me  the  iron,  I  say,  and  bind  him  here. 
15       Arth.    Alas,  what  need  you  be  so  boist'rous-rough  ? 
I  will  not  struggle,  I  will  stand  stone-still. 
Eor  Heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound ! 
Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert !  drive  these  men  away, 
And  I  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb ; 
20  I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word^, 
Nor  look  upon  the  ironi  i/jigniilry ;  .^^^oM^J/^' 
Thrust  but  these  men  away,  and  I  'Ir  for^ve  you, 
Whatever  torment  you  do  put  me  to. 

Hub.    Go,  stand  within  ;  let  me  alone  with  him. 
25       1st  Attend.    I  am  best  pleased  to  be  from  such  a  deed. 

\_Bxeunt  Attendants. 
Arth.    Alas !   I  then  have  chid  away  my  friend : 
He  hath  a  stem  look,  but  a  gentle  heart :  — 
Let  him  come  back,  that  his  compassion  may 
Give  life  to  yours. 
30      Hub.  Come,  boy,  prepare  yourself. 

Arth.    Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

*The  two  negatives  in  this  line  do  not  amount  to  an  aflarmative:  they  are 
used  to  strengthen  the  negation :  —  a  solecism,  tolerated  in  the  age,  and  often 
found  in  the  writings,  of  Shakspeare. 

12* 


138  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Hub.   None,  but  to  lose  your  eyes. 

Artii.  0  heaven ! — that  there  were  but  a  mote  in  yours, 
A  grain,  a  dust,  a  gnat,  a  wand' ring  hair, 
Any  annoyance  in  that  precious  sense  ! 
5  Then,  feeling  what  small  things  are  boist'rous  there, 
Your  vile  intent  must  needs  seem  horrible. 

Hub.    Is  this  your  promise  ?  Go  to,  hold  your  tongue. 

Artii.    Hubert,  the  utterance  of  a  brace  of  tongues 
Must  needs  want  pleading  for  a  pair  of  eyes : 
10  Let  me  not  hold  my  tongue ;  let  me  not,  Hubert  I 
Or,  Hubert,  if  you  will,  cut  out  my  tongue. 
So  I  may  keep  mine  eyes ;  0,  spare  mine  eyes : 
Though  to  no  use,  but  still  to  look  on  you  I— 
Lo,  by  my  troth,  the  instrument  is  cold, 
15  And  would  not  harm  me. 

Hub.  I  can  heat  it,  boy. 

Arth.    No,  in  good  sooth ;  the  fire  is  dead  with  grief— 
Being  create  for  comfort  —  to  be  used 
In  undeserved  extremes :  See  else  yourself : 
20  There  is  no  malice  in  this  burning  coal  ; 

The  breath  of  heaven  hath  blown  his  spirit  out, 
And  strewed  repentant  ashes  on  his  head. 

Hub.    But  with  my  breath  I  can  revive  it,  boy. 

Arth.    And  if  you  do,  you  will  but  make  it  blush, 
25  And  glow  with  shame  of  your  proceedings,  Hubert ; 
Nay,  it,  perchance,  will  sparkle  in  your  eyes ; 
And,  like  a  dog,  that  is  compelled  to  fight, 
Snatch  at  his  master  that  doth  tarre  him  on."' 
All  things,  that  you  should  use  to  do  me  wrong, 
30  Deny  their  office  ;  only  you  do  lack 

That  mercy  which  fierce  fire  and  iron  extends,  — 
Creatures  of  note,  for  mercy-lacking  uses. 

Hub.    Well,  see  to  live  ;  I  will  not  touch  thine  eyes 
Tor  all  the  treasure  that  thine  uncle  owes ;  f 

*  Urge  or  set  him  on.  t  Owns. 


hillard's  sixth  readek.  139 

Yet  am  I  sworn,  and  I  did  purpose,  boy, 
With  this  same  very  iron  to  burn  them  out. 

Arth.     0,  now  you  look  like  Hubert !  all  this  while 
You  were  disguised. 
6       Hub.  Peace :  no  more.     Adieu ; 

Your  uncle  must  not  know  but  you  are  dead ; 
I  '11  fill  these  dogged  spies  with  false  reports.  . 
And,  pretty  child,  sleep  doubtless,  and  secure, 
That  Hubert,  for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world, 
10  Will  not  offend  thee. 

Arth.     0  heaven !  —  I  thank  you,  Hubert. 

Hub.     Silence :  no  more.     Gro  closely  in  with  me : 
Much  danger  do  I  undergo  for  thee.  lUxeunt 


XLIL— ETEENITY   ©E   G@D. 

Greenwood. 

[Francis  William  Pitt  Greenwood  was  born  in  Boston,  February  5, 
1797,  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College,  in  1814,  and  settled  in  1818  as  pastor 
over  the  New  South  Church,  in  Boston.  But  he  was  soon  obliged  to  leave 
this  post  of  duty,  on  account  of  his  failing  health.  In  1824,  he  was  settled  as 
colleague  to  the  late  Dr.  Freeman,  over  the  church  worshipping  in  King's 
Chapel.  He  died  August  2,  1843.  He  was  a  man  of  rare  purity  of  life,  who 
preached  the  gospel  by  his  works  as  well  as  his  words.  His  manner  in  the 
pulpit  was  simple,  impressive,  and  winning ;  and  his  sermons  were  deeply 
imbued  with  true  religious  feeling.  His  style  was  beautifully  transparent  and 
graceful,  revealing  a  poetical  imagination  under  the  control  of  a  pure  taste. 
He  was  a  frequent  contributor  to  the  "  North  American  Review  "  and  the 
"  Christian  Examiner,"  and  for  a  time  was  one  of  the  editors  of  the  latter 
periodical.  A  volume  entitled  "Sermons  of  Consolation,"  appeared  during 
his  lifetime,  and  a  selection  from  his  sermons,  with  an  introductory  memoir, 
was  published  after  his  death. 

Dr.  Greenwood  was  an  attentive  student  of  natural  history,  and  was  an 
accurate  observer  of  nature,  with  remarkable  powers  of  description.  Some 
of  his  lighter  productions,  contributed  to  the  gift  annuals  of  the  day,  have 
great  merit  as  vivid  and  picturesque  delineations  of  natural  scenes  and  objects. 
The  following  extract  is  from  one  of  his  sermons.] 

We  receive  such  repeated  intimations  of  decay  in  the 
world  through  which  we  are  passing,  —  decline,  and 
change,  and  loss,  follow  decline,  and  change,  and  loss,  in 


140  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

such  rapid  succession,  —  that  we  can  almost  catch  the 
sound  of  universal  wasting,  and  hear  the  work  of  desola- 
tion going  on  busily  around  us.  "  The  mountain  falling 
cometh  to  nought,  and  the  rock  is  removed  out  of  his  place. 
6  The  waters  wear  the  stones,  the  things  which  grow  out  of 
the  dust  of  the  earth  are  washed  away,  and  the  hope  of 
man  is  destroyed."  . 

Conscious  of  our  own  instability,  we  look  about  for 
something  to  rest  on ;  but  we  look  in  vain.     The  heavens 

10  and  the  earth  had  a  beginning,  and  they  will  have  an  end. 
The  face  of  the  world  is  changing,  daily  and  hourly.  All 
animated  things  grow  old  and  die.  The  rocks  crumble, 
the  trees  fall,  the  leaves  fade,  and  the  grass  withers. 
The  clouds  are  flying,  and  the  waters  are  flowing,  away 

15  from  us. 

The  firmest  works  of  man,  too,  are  gradually  giving 
way.  The  ivy  clings  to  the  mouldering  tower,  the  brier 
hangs  out  from  the  shattered  window,  and  the  wall-flower 
springs  from  the  disjointed  stones.     The  founders  of  these 

20  perishable  works  have  shared  the  same  fate,  long  ago.  If 
we  look  back  to  the  days  of  our  ancestors,  to  the  men  as 
well  as  the  dwellings  of  former  times,  they  become  imme- 
diately associated  in  our  imaginations,  and  only  make  the 
feeling  of  instability  stronger  and  deeper  than  before, 

25  In  the  spacious  domes  which  once  held  our  fathers,  the 
serpent  hisses  and  the  wild  bird  screams.  The  halls  which 
once  were  crowded  with  all  that  taste,  and  science,  and 
labor  could  procure,  which  resounded  with  melody  and 
were  lighted  up  with  beauty,  are  buried  by  their  own 

30  ruins,  mocked  by  their  own  desolation.  The  voice  of  mer- 
riment and  of  wailing,  the  steps  of  the  busy  and  the  idle, 
have  ceased  in  the  deserted  courts,  and  the  weeds  choke 
the  entrances,  and  the  long  grass  waves  upon  the  hearth-' 
stone.     iThe  works  of  art,  the  forming  hand,  the  tombs,] 

(35. the  very  ashes  they  contained,  are  all  gone. 

While.we.thus  .walk  among  the  ruins  of  the  past,  a  sad] 


hillakd's  sixtii  eeadee.  141 

feeling  of  insecurity  comes  over  us ;  and  that  feeling  is  by 
no  means  diminished  when  we  arrive  at  home.  If  we 
turn  to  our  friends,  we  can  hardly  speak  to  them  before 
they  bid  us  farewell.     We  see  them  for  a  few  moments, 

5  and  in  a  few  moments  more  their  countenances  are 
changed,  and  they  are  sent  away.  It  matters  not  how 
near  and  dear  they  are.  The  ties  which  bind  us  together 
are  never  too  close  to  be  parted,  or  too  strong  to  be 
broken.      Tears  were  never  known  to  move  the  king  of 

10  terrors,  neither  is  it  enough  that  we  are  compelled  to  sur- 
render one,  or  two,  or  many,  of  those  we  love  ;  for  though 
the  price  is  so  great,  we  buy  no  favor  with  it,  and  our 
hold  on  those  who  remain  is  as  slight  as  ever.  The  shad- 
ows all  elude  our  grasp,  and  follow  one  another  down  the 

15  valley. 

We  gain  no  confidence,  then,  no  feeling  of  security,  by 
turning  to  our  contemporaries  and  kindred.  We  know 
that  the  forms  which  are  breathing  around  us  are  as 
short-lived  and  fleeting  as  those  were  which  have  been 

20  dust  for  centuries.  The  sensation  of  vanity,  uncertainty, 
and  ruin  is  equally  strong,  whether  we  muse  on  what  has 
long  been  prostrate,  or  gaze  on  what  is  falling  now,  or  will 
fall  so  soon. 

If  everything  which  comes  under  our  notice  has  en- 

25  dured  for  so  short  a  time,  and  in  so  short  a  time  will  be 
no  more,  we  cannot  say  that  we  receive  the  least  assurance 
by  thinking  on  ourselves.  When  they,  on  whose  fate  we 
have  been  meditating,  were  engaged  in  the  active  scenes 
of  life,  as  full  of  health  and  hope  as  we  are  now,  what 

30  were  we?  AYe  had  no  knowledge,  no  consciousness,  no 
being ;  there  was  not  a  single  thing  in  the  wide  universe 
which  knew  us.  And  after  the  same  interval  shall  have 
elapsed,  which  now  divides  their  days  from  ours,  what 
shall  we  be  ?     What  they  are  now. 

35  When  a  few  more  friends  have  left,  a  few  more  hopes 
deceived,  and  a  few  more  changes  mocked  us,  "  we  shall 


142  htllard's  sixth  reader,  ^ 

be  brought  to  the  grave,  and  shall  remain  in  the  tomb : 
the  clods  of  the  valley  shall  be  sweet  unto  us,  and  every 
man  shall  follow  us,  as  there  are  innumerable  before  us." 
All  power  will  have  forsaken  the  strongest,  and  the  loftiest 
6  will  be  laid  low,  and  every  eye  will  be  closed,  and  every 
voice  hushed,  and  every  heart  will  have  ceased  its  beating. 
And  when  we  have  gone  ourselves,  even  our  memories  will 
not  stay  behind  us  long.  A  few  of  the  near  and  dear  will 
bear  our  likeness  in  their  bosoms,  till  they  too  have  arrived 

10  at  the  end  of  their  journey,  and  entered  the  dark  dwelling 
of  unconsciousness. 

In  the  thoughts  of  others  we  shall  live  only  till  the  last 
sound  of  the  bell,  which  informs  them  of  our  departure, 
has  ceased  to  vibrate  in  their  ears.    A  stone,  perhaps,  may 

15  tell  some  wanderer  where  we  lie,  when  we  came  here,  and 
when  we  went  away ;  but  even  that  will  soon  refuse  to 
bear  us  record :  "  time's  eiFacing  fingers"  will  be  busy  on 
its  surface,  and  at  length  will  wear  it  smooth ;  and  then 
the  stone  itself  will  sink,  or  crumble,  and  the  wanderer  of 

20  another  age  will  pass,  without  a  single  call  upon  his  sym- 
pathy, over  our  unheeded  graves. 

Is  there  nothing  to  counteract  the  sinking  of  the  heart 
which  must  be  the  effect  of  observations  like  these  ?  Can 
no  support  be  offered?  can  no  source  of  confidence  be 

25  named  ?  0,  yes !  there  is  one  Being,  to  whom  we  can  look 
with  a  perfect  conviction  of  finding  that  security  which 
nothing  about  us  can  give,  and  which  nothing  about  us 
can  take  away. 

To  this  Being  we  can  lift  up  our  souls,  and  on  Him  we 

30  may  rest  them,  exclaiming,  in  the  language  of  the  monarch 
of  Israel,  "Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or 
ever  thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from 
everlasting  to  everlasting,  thou  art  God!  "  '*  Of  old  hast 
thou  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth,  and  the  heavens 

35  are  the  work  of  thy  hands.  They  shall  perish,  but  thou 
shalt  endure ;  yea,  all  of  them  shall  wax  old  like  a  gar- 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  143 

ment ;  as  a  vesture  shalt  thou  change  them,  and  they  shall 
be  changed ;  but  thou  art  the  same,  and  thy  years  shall 
have  no  end."  > 

Here,  then,  is  a  support  which  will  never  fail ;  here  is 
5  a  foundation  which  can  never  be  moved  —  the  everlasting 
Creator  of  countless  worlds,  "  the  high  and  lofty  One  that 
inhabiteth  eternity."  "What  a  sublime  conception !  He 
inhabits  eternity,  occupies  this  inconceivable  duration,  per- 
vades and  fills  throughout  this  boundless  dwelling. 

10  The  contemplation  of  this  glorious  attribute  of  God  is 
fitted  to  excite  in  our  minds  the  most  animating  and  con- 
soling reflections.  Standing  as  we  are  amid  the  ruins  of 
time  and  the  wrecks  of  mortality,  where  everything  about 
us  is  created  and  dependent,  proceeding  from  nothing,  and 

15  hastening  to  destruction,  we  rejoice  that  something  is  pre- 
sented to  our  view  which  has  stood  from  everlasting,  and 
will  remain  forever.  AVe  can  look  to  the  throne  of  God : 
change  and  decay  have  never  reached  that ;  the  revolution 
of  ages  has  never  moved  it ;  the  waves  of  an  eternity  have 

20  been  rushing  past  it,  but  it  has  remained  unshaken ;  the 
waves  of  another  eternity  are  rushing  towards  it,  but  it  is 
fixed,  and  can  never  be  disturbed. 


XLIIL  — A   FLOWEK   E®K   THE   WINDOW. 

Leigh   Hunt. 

[Leigh  Hunt  was  born  at  Southgate,  in  the  county  of  Middlesex,  England, 
October  19,  1784,  and  died  August  28, 1859.  He  was  a  man  of  letters  by  pro- 
fession, and  was  for  many  years  a  writer  for  the  periodical  press  in  London. 
He  appeared  as  a  poet  at  an  early  age.  His  poetry  was  of  a  kind  that  was 
easy  to  disparage,  and  not  difficult  to  ridicule.  Its  simplicity  sometimes  de- 
generated into  baldness,  and  the  tone  of  sentiment  was  not  always  free  from 
mawkishness.  There  were  certain  peculiarities  of  expression  in  it,  which  ap- 
peared like  aflfeetation  ;  besides  a  frequent  use  of  novel  words,  and  a  flowing 
laxity  in  the  structure  of  his  verse.  He  was  criticized  accordingly  with  indis- 
criminate severity ;  especially  by  those  writers  who  differed  with  him  in  poli- 
tics, he  being  an  ardent  liberal.  Of  late  years  more  justice  has  been  done 
him  ;  and  his  tenderness  of  feeling,  luxuriant  fancy,  and  warm  sympathy  with 
nature  and  the  affections  of  the  heart,  are  appreciated  as  they  should  be. 


144  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  also  a  prose  writer ;  and  he  wrote  prose,  to  aay  the  least,  as 
■well  as  he  wrote  poetry.  His  sketches  and  essays,  which  have  appeared  from 
time  to  time,  and  been  collected  under  the  names  of"  The  ludicator  and  Com- 
panion "  and  "  The  Seer,"  are  delightful  compositions  ;  full  of  genial  feeling, 
graceful  fancy,  and  an  inextinguishable  spirit  of  youth. 

He  was  also  an  admirable  critic  of  poetry.  His  "  Imagination  and  Fancy," 
and"  Wit  and  Humor,"  — consisting  of  poetical  extracts  illustrating  these 
qualities,  with  critical  notices,  — are  written  with  earnest  feeling,  and  a  lively 
and  discriminating  sense  of  the  merits  of  the  authors  he  discusses.  They  have 
been  republished  in  this  country,  and  are  commended  to  all  who  wish  to 
acquire  a  good  taste  in  poetical  literature.] 

Why  does  not  every  one,  who  can  afford  it,  have  a  ge- 
ranium in  his  window,  or  some  other  flower  ?  It  is  very 
cheap ;  its  cheapness  is  next  to  nothing,  if  you  raise  it 
from  seed,  or  from  a  slip ;  and  it  is  a  beauty  and  a  com- 
5  panion.  It  sweetens  the  air,  rejoices  the  eye,  links  you 
with  nature  and  innocence,  and  is  something  to  love.  And 
if  it  cannot  love  you  in  return,  it  cannot  hate  you ;  it  can- 
not utter  a  hateful  thing  even  for  your  neglecting  it ;  for, 
though  it  is  all  beauty,  it  has  no  vanity  ;  and  such  being 

10  the  case,  and  living  as  it  does  purely  to  do  you  good  and 
afford  pleasure,  how  will  you  be  able  to  neglect  it  ? 

But,  pray,  if  you  choose  a  geranium,  or  possess  but  a 
few  of  them,  let  us  persuade  you  to  choose  the  scarlet 
kind,  the  "old  original"  geranium,  and  not  a  variety  of 

15  it,  not  one  of  the  numerous  diversities  of  red  and  white, 
blue  and  white,  or  ivy-leaved.  Those  are  all  beautiful, 
and  very  fit  to  vary  a  large  collection  ;  but  to  prefer  them 
to  the  originals  of  the  race  is  to  run  the  hazard  of  prefer- 
ring the  curious  to  the  beautiful,  and  costliness  to  sound 

20  taste. 

It  may  be  taken  as  a  good  general  rule,  that  the  most 
popular  plants  are  the  best ;  for  otherwise  they  would  not 
have  become  such.  And  what  the  painters  call  "pure 
colors"  are  preferable  to  mixed  ones,  for  reasons  which 

25  Nature  herself  has  given  when  she  painted  the  sky  of  one 
color,  and  the  fields  of  another,  and  divided  the  rainbow 
itself  into  a  few  distinct  colors,  and  made  the  red  rose  the 
queen  of  flowers. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  14:5 

Variations  in  flowers  are  like  variations  in  music,  often 
beautiful  as  such,  but  almost  always  inferior  to  the  theme 
on  which  thej  are  founded  —  the  original  air.  And  the 
rule  holds  good  in  beds  of  flowers,  if  they  be  not  very 
5  large,  or  in  any  other  small  assemblage  of  them.  Nay, 
the  largest  bed  will  look  well,  if  of  one  beautiful  color, 
while  the  most  beautiful  varieties  may  be  inharmoniously 
mixed  up.  Contrast  is  a  good  thing,  but  we  must  observe 
the  laws  of  harmonious  contrast,  and  unless  we  have  space 

10  enough  to  secure  these,  it  is  better  to  be  content  with 
unity  and  simplicity,  which  are  always  to  be  had. 

We  do  not,  in  general,  love  and  honor  any  one  single 
color  enough,  and  we  arc  instinctively  struck  with  a  con- 
viction to  this  effect,  when  we  see  it  abundantly  set  forth. 

15  The  other  day  we  saw  a  little  garden  wall  completely  cov- 
ered with  nasturtiums,  and  felt  how  much  more  beautiful 
they  were  than  if  anything  had  been  mixed  with  them  ; 
for  the  leaves  and  the  light  and  shade  offer  variety  enough. 
The  rest  is  all  richness  and  simplicity  united,  which  is  the 

20  triumph  of  an  intense  perception.  Embower  a  cottage 
thickly  and  completely  with  nothing  but  roses,  and  nobody 
would~ desire  the  interference  of  another  plant. 

Everything  is  handsome  about  the  geranium,  not  ex- 
cepting its  name  ;  which  cannot  be  said  of  all  flowers, 

25  though  we  get  to  love  ugly  words  when  associated  with 
pleasing  ideas.  The  -word  "geranium"  is  soft  and  pleas- 
ant ;  the  meaning  is  poor,  for  it  comes  from  a  Greek  word 
which  signifies  a  crane,  the  fruit  having  the  form  of  a 
crane's  head  or  bill.     Cranesbill  is  the  English  name  for 

30  geranium,  though  the  learned  appellation  has  superseded 
the  vernacular.  But  what  a  reason  for  naming  a  flower  ! 
as  if  the  fruit  were  anything  in  comparison,  or  any  one 
cared  about  it.  Such  distinctions,  it  is  true,  are  useful  to 
botanists ;  but  as  a  plenty  of  learned  names  are  sure  to  be 

35  reserved  for  the  freemasonry  of  the  science,  it  would  be 
well  for  the  world  at  large  to  invent  joyous  and  beautiful 
13 


146  iiillard's  sixth  reader. 

names  for  these  images  of  joy  and  beauty.  In  some 
instances  we  have  them ;  such  as  heartsease,  honeysuckle, 
marigold,  mignonette  (little  darling),  daisy  (day's  eye). 
And  many  flowers  are  so  lovely,  and  have  associated  names, 
5  otherwise  unmeaning,  so  pleasantly  with  one's  memory/, 
that  no  new  ones  would  sound  so  well,  or  seem  even  to 
have  such  proper  significations. 

In  pronouncing  the  words  lilies,  roses,  tulips,  pinks, 
jonquils,  we  see  the  things  themselves,  and  seem  to  taste 

10  all  their  beauty  and  sweetness.  Pink  is  a  harsh,  petty 
word  in  itself,  and  yet  assuredly  it  does  not  seem  so  ;  for 
in  the  word  wt  have  the  flower.  It  would  be  difiicult  to 
persuade  ourselves  that  the  word  rose  is  not  very  beauti- 
ful.    Pea  is  a  poor,  Chinese-like  monosyllable  ;  and  briei 

15  is  rough  and  fierce,  as  it  ought  to  be  ;  but  when  we  +hink 
of  sweet-pea  and  sweet-brier,  the  words  appear  quite 
worthy  of  their  epithets.  The  poor  monosyllable  becomes 
rich  in  sweetness  and  appropriation ;  the  rough  dissyllabla 
also  ;  and  the  sweeter  for  its  contrast. 

20  The  names  of  flowers,  in  general,  among  the  polite,  are; 
neither  pretty  in  themselves,  nor  give  us  information. 
The  country  people  are  apt  to  do  them  more  justice. 
Goldylocks,  ladies'-fingers,  rose-a-ruby,  shepherd' s-clock, 
shepherd' s-purse,  sauce-alone,  scarlet-runners,  sops-in-wine» 

25  sweet-william,  and  many  other  names,  give  us  some  ideas, 
either  useful  or  pleasant.  But  from  the  peasantry  come 
many  uncongenial  names,  as  bad  as  those  of  the  botanist. 
It  is  a  pity  that  all  fruits  and  flowers,  and  animals  toOt 
except  those  with  good  names,  could  not  be  passed  in 

80  review  before  somebody  with  a  genius  for  christening,  aa 
the  creatures  were  before  Adam  in  paradise,  and  so  have 
new  names  given  them,  worthy  of  their  creation. 

Suppose  flowers  themselves  were  new  !     Suppose  they 
had  just  come  into  the  world,  a  sweet  reward  for  some 

35  new  goodness,  and  that  we  had  not  yet  seen  them  quite 
developed  ;  that  they  were  in  the  act  of  growing ;  had  just 


HILLARD'S   SIXTH   READER.  '  147 

issued,  witli  tlieir  green  stalks,  out  of  the  ground,  and  en- 
gaged the  attention  of  the  curious.  Imagine  what  we 
should  feel  when  we  saw  the  first  lateral  stem  bearing  off 
from  the  main  one,  or  putting  forth  a  leaf.  How  we 
5  should  watch  the  leaf  gradually  unfolding  its  little  grace- 
ful hand ;  then  another,  then  another ;  then  the  main 
stalk  rising  and  producing  more  ;  then  one  of  them  giving 
indications  of  astonishing  novelty  —  a  hud !  then  this 
mysterious  bud  gradually  unfolding,  like  the  leaf,  amaz- 
10  ing  us,  enchanting  us,  almost  alarming  us  with  delight, 
as  if  we  knew  not  what  enchantment  were  to  ensue,  till 
at  length,  in  all  its  fairy  beauty,  and  odorous  voluptu- 
ousness, and  mysterious  elaboration  of  tender  and  living 
sculpture,  shone  forth 

15  "The  bright  consummate  flower!  " 

Yet  this  phenomenon,  to  a  person  of  any  thought  and 
lovingness,  is  what  may  be  said  to  take  place  every  day ; 
for  the  commonest  objects  are  wonders  at  which  habit  has 
made  us  cease  to  wonder,  and  the  marvellousness  of  which 
we  may  renew  at  pleasure,  by  taking  thought. 


XLIV.  —  HOME. 
Montgomery. 


[James  Montgomery  was  born  at  Irvine,  in  Scotland,  November  4, 1771, 
and  died  in  1854.  For  the  greater  part  of  his  life  he  resided  at  Sheffield,  Eng- 
land, and  was  editor  of  a  newspaper  published  there.  He  wrote  a  number  of 
poems  —  some  of  considerable  length.  Among  them  are  "  The  Wanderer  in 
Switzerland,"  "The  World  before  the  Flood,"  "The  West  Indies,"  "The 
Pelican  Island,"  and  "  Greenland,"  besides  many  miscellaneous  pieces.  His 
poetry  is  distinguished  for  its  purity  of  feeling,  and  its  gentle,  sympathetic 
spirit.  His  longer  poems  contain  many  noble  descriptive  passages,  but  he 
has  not  strength  of  wing  for  a  protracted  flight.  His  genius  is  essentially 
lyric,  and  many  of  his  fugitive  pieces  are  beautiful  alike  in  sentiment  and  style. 

The  following  eitract  is  from  "  The  West  Indies,"  a  poem  written  in  honor 
of  the  abolition  of  the  African  slave-trade,  by  the  British  legislature,  in  1807.] 


148 


There  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 
Where  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light, 
And  milder  moons  imparadise  the  night ; 
5  A  land  of  beauty,  virtue,  valor,  truth. 
Time-tutored  age,  and  love-exalted  youth  ; 
The  wandering  mariner,  whose  eye  explores 
The  wealthiest  isles,  the  most  enchanting  shores, 
Views  not  a  realm  so  bountiful  and  fair, 

10  Nor  breathes  the  spirit  of  a  purer  air : 
In  every  clime  the  magnet  of  his  soul, 
Touched  by  remembrance,  trembles  to  that  pole ; 
For  in  this  land  of  Heaven's  peculiar  grace, 
The  heritage  of  nature's  noblest  race, 

15  There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest. 
Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 
His  sword  and  sceptre,  pageantry  and  pride, 
While  in  his  softened  looks  benignly  blend 

20  The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  brother,  friend : 
Here  woman  reigns ;  the  mother,  daughter,  wife. 
Strews  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  way  of  life ; 
In  the  clear  heaven  of  her  delightful  eye, 
An  angel-guard  of  loves  and  graces  lie ; 

25  Around  her  knees  domestic  duties  meet, 
And  fireside  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet. 
♦'  Where  shall  that  land,  that  spot  of  earth  be  found  ? ' 
Art  thou  a  man  ?  —  a  patriot  ?  —  look  around  ! 
0,  thou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 

30  That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home  I 
—  Man,  through  all  ages  of  revolving  time, 
Unchanging  man,  in  every  varying  clime. 
Deems  his  own  land  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 

35  His  home  the  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest 


hillard's  sixth  readee.  149 


XLV.  — CHAEACTER   67   WASHINGTON. 

[The  following'  sketch  of  the  character  of  Washington  appeared  in  the  "  Lon- 
don Courier"  of  January  24,  1800.  It  will  be  read  with  interest,  not  merely  as  a 
discriminating  and  well- written  production,  but  as  a  tribute  to  the  excellence 
of  that  illustrious  man,  from  a  contemporary,  a  foreigner,  and  one  of  a  people 
against  whom  he  had  conducted  a  successful  revolution  —  a  tribute  as  honor- 
able to  the  candor  of  the  writer  as  it  is  gratifying  to  our  national  pride.  It  is 
not  often  that  contemporary  opinions  so  perfectly  anticipate  the  judgment  of 
posterity.] 

The  melancholy  account  of  the  death  of  General  Wash- 
ington was  brought  by  a  vessel  from^  Baltimore,  which 
arrived  off  Dover.  General  Washington  was,  we  believe,  in 
his  sixty-eighth  year.  The  height  of  his  person  was  about 
6  six  feet  two :  his  chest  full,  and  his  limbs,  though  rather 
slender,  well  shaped  and  muscular.  His  eye  was  of  a  light 
gray  color ;  and,  in  proportion  to  the  length  of  his  face,  his 
nose  was  long.  Mr.  Stuart,  the  eminent  portrait  painter, 
used  to  say  that  there  were  features  in  his  face  totally 

10  different  from  what  he  had  observed  in  that  of  any  other 
person ;  the  sockets  of  the  eyes,  for  instance,  were  larger 
than  any  he  had  ever  met  with  before,  and  the  upper  part  of 
his  nose  broader. 

All  his  features,  he  observed,  were  indicative  of  the  strong- 

15  est  passions;  yet,  like  Socrates,  his  judgment  and  great  self- 
command  have  always  made  him  appear  a  man  of  a  differ- 
ent cast  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  He  always  spoke  with 
great  diffidence,  and  sometimes  hesitated  for  a  word,  but 
always  to  find  one  particularly  well  adapted  to  his  meaning. 

20  His  language  was  manly  and  expressive.  At  levees,  his 
discourse  with  strangers  turned  principally  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  America  ;  and  if  they  had  been  through  remarkable 
places,  his  conversation  was  free  and  peculiarly  interesting, 
for  he  was  intimately  acquainted  with  every  part  of  the 

25  country.  He  was  much  more  open  and  unreserved  in  his 
behavior  at  levees  than  in  private,  and  in  the  company  of 
ladies  still  more  so,  than  solely  with  men. 

Few  persons  ever  found  themselves  for  the  first  time 
13* 


150  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

in  the  presence  of  General  Washington  without  being  im- 
pressed with  a  certain  degree  of  veneration  and  awe ;  nor 
did  these  emotions  subside  on  a  closer  acquaintance ;  on 
the  contrary,  his  person  and  deportment  were  such  as  tended 
5  to  augment  them.  The  hard  service  he  had  seen,  and  the 
important  and  laborious  offices  he  had  filled,  gave  a  kind 
of  austerity  to  his  countenance,  and  reserve  to  his  manners ; 
yet  he  was  the  kindest  husband,  the  most  humane  master, 
and  the  steadiest  friend.     The  whole  range  of  history  does 

10  not  present  to  our  view  a  character  upon  which  we  can 
dwell  with  such  entire  and  unmixed  admiration. 

The  long  life  of  General  Washington  is  unstained  by  a 
single  blot.  He  was  a  man  of  rare  endowments,  and  such 
fortunate  temperament  that  every  action  he  performed  was 

15  equally  exempted  from  the  charge  of  vice  or  weakness. 
Whatever  he  said,  or  did,  or  wrote,  was  stamped  with  a 
striking  and  peculiar  propriety.  His  qualities  were  so 
happily  blended  and  so  nicely  harmonized,  that  the  result 
was  a  great  and  perfect  whole.     The  powers  of  his  mind 

20  and  the  dispositions  of  his  heart  were  admirably  suited  to 
each  other.  It  was  the  union  of  the  most  consummate 
prudence  with  the  most  perfect  moderation. 

His  views,  though  large  and  liberal,  were  never  extrav- 
agant.    His  virtues,  though  comprehensive  and  beneficent, 

25  were  discriminating,  judicious,  and  practical.  Yet  his 
character,  though  regular  and  uniform,  possessed  none  of 
the  littleness  which  sometimes  belongs  to  men  of  that  de- 
scription. It  formed  a  majestic  pile,  the  efi'ect  of  which 
was  not  impaired,  but  improved,  by  order  and  symmetry. 

30  There  was  nothing  in  it  to  dazzle  by  wildness  and  surprise 
by  eccentricity.  It  was  of  a  higher  species  of  moral  beauty. 
It  contained  everything  great  or  elevated,  but  it  had  no 
false  and  tinsel  ornament.  It  was  not  the  model  cried  up 
by  fashion  and  circumstance ;  its  excellence  was  adapted 

85  to  a  true  and  just  moral  taste,  incapable  of  change  from 
the  varying  accidents  of  manners,  opinions,  and  times. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  151 

General  Washington  is  not  tlie  idol  of  a  day,  but  tlie 
hero  of  ages.  Placed  in  circumstances  of  the  most  trying 
difficulty  at  the  commencement  of  the  American  contest,  he 
a<3cepted  that  situation  which  was  pre-eminent  in  danger 
5  and  responsibility.  His  perseverance  overcame  every  ob- 
stacle ;  his  moderation  conciliated  every  opposition ;  his 
genius  supplied  every  resource ;  his  enlarged  view  could 
plan,  devise,  and  improve  every  branch  of  civil  and  mili- 
tary operation.     He  had  the  superior  courage  which  can 

10  act  or  forbear  to  act  as  true  policy  dictates,  careless  of  the 
reproaches  of  ignorance  either  in  power  or  out  of  power. 
He  knew  how  to  conquer  by  waiting,  in  spite  of  obloquy, 
for  the  moment  of  victory ;  and  he  merited  true  praise 
by  despising  undeserved  censure.     In  the  most  arduous 

15  moments  of  the  contest,  his  prudent  firmness  proved  the 
salvation  of  the  cause  which  he  supported. 

His  conduct  was,  on  all  occasions,  guided  by  the  most 
pure  disinterestedness.  Far  superior  to  low  and  grovelling 
motives,  he  seemed  ever  to  be  influenced  by  that  ambition 

20  which  has  justly  been  called  the  instinct  of  great  souls. 
He  acted  ever  as  if  his  country's  welfare,  and  that  alone, 
was  the  moving  spirit.  His  excellent  mind  needed  not 
even  the  stimulus  of  ambition,  or  the  prospect  of  fame. 
Glory  was  a  secondary  consideration.     He  performed  great 

25  actions;  he  persevered  in  a  course  of  laborious  utility, 

with  an  equanimity  that  neither  sought  distinction  nor 

was  flattered  by  it.     His  reward  was  in  the  consciousness 

of  his  own  rectitude,  and  the  success  of  his  patriotic  efi'orts. 

As  his  elevation  to  the  chief  power  was  the  unbiassed 

30  choice  of  his  countrymen,  his  exercise  of  it  was  agreeable 
to  the  purity  of  its  origin.  As  he  had  neither  solicited 
nor  usurped  dominion,  he  had  neither  to  contend  with  the 
opposition  of  rivals  nor  the  revenge  of  enemies.  As  his 
authority  was  undisputed,  so  it  required  no  jealous  pre- 

35  cautions,  no  rigorous  severity.  His  government  was  mild 
and  gentle ;  it  was  beneficent  and  liberal ;  it  was  wise  and 


152 


just.      His  prudent  administration  consolidated  and  en- 
larged the  dominion  of  an  infant  republic. 

In  voluntarily  resigning  the  magistracy  whicli  he  had 
filled  with  such  distinguished  honor,  he  enjoyed  the  un- 
5  equalled  satisfaction  of  leaving  to  the  state  he  had  con- 
tributed to  establish  the  fruits  of  his  wisdom  and  the 
example  of  his  virtues.  It  is  some  consolation  amidst  the 
violence  of  ambition  and  criminal  thirst  of  power,  of  which 
so  many  instances  occur  around  us,  to  find  a  character  whom 

10  it  is  honorable  to  admire  and  virtuous  to  imitate.  A  con- 
queror for  the  freedom  of  his  country  !  a  legislator  for  its 
security  !  a  magistrate  for  its  happiness  !  His  glories  were 
never  sullied  by  those  excesses  into  which  the  highest  qual- 
ities arc  apt  to  degenerate.     With  the  greatest  virtues,  he 

15  was  exempt  from  the  corresponding  vices.  He  was  a  man 
in  whom  the  elements  were  so  mixed,  that  "  Nature  might 
have  stood  up  to  all  the  world  and  owned  him  as  her  work.'* 
His  fame,  bounded  by  no  country,  will  be  confined  to  no 
age.     The  character  of  General  Washington,  which  his  con- 

20  temporaries  reverence  and  admire,  will  be  transmitted  to 
posterity  ;  and  the  memory  of  his  virtues,  while  patriotism 
and  virtue  are  held  sacred  among  men,  will  remain  undi- 
minished. 


XLVI.  —  BKEATHINGS   €)F    SPKINa. 

3IR.S.  IIemans. 

[Felicia  Dorothea  Browne  was  born  in  Liverpool,  England,  September 
25,  1794,  was  married  to  Captain  Homans,  an  officer  in  the  British  army,  in 
1S12,  and  died  May  16, 1835.  She  wrote  two  tragedies, "  The  Siege  of  Valencia." 
and  "  The  Vespers  of  Palermo  ; "  a  narrative  poem  called  "  The  Forest  Sanctu- 
ary," an.l  Ji  yreat  number  of  lyrical  poems  ;  in  which  last  her  genius  appears 
to  the  best  advantage.  Her  poetry  is  remarkable  for  its  elevated  tone,  its 
exquisite  imagery,  its  deep  sense  of  the  beauty  of  nature,  and  the  truth  and 
tenderness  with  Avhich  it  expresses  the  domestic  affections.  Her  poems,  as 
they  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  tlie  periodical  publications  of  the  day 
during  her  lifetime,  were  universally  read  and  admired,  both  in  Eng'land  and 
America ;  but  they  are  less  popular  now  that  they  have  been  collected  and  are 
read  continuously.    Her  life  was  not  happy  j  and  this  has  contributed  to  throw 


hillard's  sixth  eeader.  153 

ft  shadow  of  melancholy  over  her  writings,  which,  while  it  deepens  the  charm 
of  a  single  eflFusion  of  feeling^,  becomes  somewhat  monotonous  when  prolonged 
from  page  to  page.  Her  diction  sometimes  becomes  dazzhng  to  the  eye  of  the 
mind  from  its  too  uniform  brilliancy. 

Mrs.  Hemans's  knowledge  and  range  of  reading  were  quite  extensive.  She 
was  acquainted  with  the  principal  languages  of  modern  Europe,  and  drew  the 
subjects  of  her  poems  from  a  great  variety  of  sources.  She  has  much  skill  iu 
catching  and  presersing  the  spirit  of  a  remote  age  or  a  foreign  people.  She 
was  pleasing  in  her  personal  appearance ;  her  manners  were  graceful  and  ani- 
mated ;  and  she  was  beloved  as  well  as  admired  by  her  friends.  She  bore  with 
gentle  sweetness  the  burdens  of  life,  and  shrank  from  none  of  its  duties.  Her 
later  poems  are  deeply  and  beautifully  penetrated  with  religious  feeling.] 

1  What  wak'st  thou,  Spring  ?  —  Sweet  voices  in  the  woods, 

And  reed-like  echoes,  that  have  long  been  mute  ; 
Thou  bringest  back,  to  fill  the  solitudes, 

The  lark's  clear  pipe,  the  cuckoo's  viewless  flute, 
Whose  tone  seems  breathing  mournfulness  or  glee, 
Even  as  our  hearts  may  be. 

2  And  the  leaves  greet  thee,  Spring !  —  the  joyous  leaves, 

Whose  tremblings  gladden  many  a  copse  and  glade. 
Where  each  young  spray  a  rosy  flush  receives, 

When  thy  south  wind  hath  pierced  the  whispery  shade, 
And  happy  murmurs,  running  through  the  grass, 
Tell  that  thy  footsteps  pass. 

3  And  the  bright  waters  —  they,  too,  hear  thy  call, 

Spring,  the  awakener !  thou  hast  burst  their  sleep ! 
Amidst  the  hollows  of  the  rocks  their  fall 

Makes  melody,  and  in  the  forests  deep, 
Where  sudden  sparkles  and  blue  gleams  betray 
Their  windings  to  the  day. 

4  And  flowers  —  the  fairy-peopled  world  of  flowers  I 

Thou  from  the  dust  hast  set  that  glory  free. 
Coloring  the  cowslip  with  the  sunny  hours, 

And  pencilling  the  wood-anemone : 
Silent  they  seem  ;  yet  each  to  thoughtful  eye 
Glows  with  mute  poesy. 


154  hillakd's  sixth  eeader.  ^ 

5  But  what  awak'st  thou  in  the  heart,  0  Spring !  — 

The  human  heart,  with  all  its  dreams  and  sighs  ? 
Thou  that  giv'st  back  so  many  a  buried  thing, 

Kestorer  of  forgotten  harmonies ! 
Tresh  songs  and  scents  break  forth  where'er  thou  art : 
What  wak'st  thou  in  the  heart  ? 

6  Too  much,  oh,  there,  too  much  !  —  we  know  not  well 

Wherefore  it  should  be  thus ;  yet,  roused  by  thee, 
What  fond,  strange  yearnings,  from  the  soul's  deep  cell, 

Gush  for  the  faces  we  no  more  may  see  ! 
How  are  we  haunted,  in  thy  wind's  low  tone, 
By  voices  that  are  gone  ! 

7  Looks  of  familiar  love,  that  never  more, 

Never  on  earth,  our  aching  eyes  shall  meet, 
Past  words  of  welcome  to  our  household  door. 

And  vanished  smiles,  and  sounds  of  parted  feet  -— 
Spring,  midst  the  murmurs  of  thy  flowering  trees. 
Why,  why  revivest  thou  these  ? 

8  Vain  longings  for  the  dead !  —  why  come  they  back 

With  thy  young  birds,  and  leaves,  and  living  blooms  ? 
0,  is  it  not  that  from  thine  earthly  track 

Hope  to  thy  world  may  look  beyond  the  tombs  ? 
Yes,  gentle  Spring ;  no  sorrow  dims  thine  air, 
Breathed  by  our  loved  ones  there. 


XLVIL  — IMAGINAEY  SPEECH   IN   OPPOSITION   TO 
THE  DECLAKATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

VTebster. 

[This  lesson  and  that  which  succeeds  it  are  both  taken  from  Mr.  Webster's 
*'  Eulogy  on  Adams  and  Jefferson,"  delivered  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Boston,  August 
2,  1826-  The  first  speech  presents  such  arguments  as  might  have  been  urged 
against  the  declaration  of  the  independence  of  the  colonies,  by  a  man  of  timid 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  155 

and  desponding  temperament ;  and  the  views  of  bolder  and  far-seeing  states- 
men are  uttered  by  the  lips  of  Mr.  Adams.  Many  persons  have  supposed 
that  the  speech  put  into  the  mouth  of  Mr.  Adams  -wns  really  delivered  by  him, 
but  this  is  not  the  ease.    It  was  written  by  Mr.  Webster.] 

Let  us  pause !  This  step,  once  taken,  cannot  he  re- 
traced. This  resolution,  once  passed,  will  cut  off  all  hope 
of  reconciliation.  If  success  attend  the  arms  of  England, 
we  shall  then  he  no  longer  colonies,  with  charters  and 
5  with  privileges ;  these  will  all  he  forfeited  by  this  act ; 
and  we  shall  he  in  the  condition  of  other  conquered  peo- 
ple, at  the  mercy  of  the  conquerors. 

For  ourselves,  we  may  be  ready  to  run  the  hazard  ;  but 
are  we  ready  to  carry  the  country  to  that  length  ?     Is 

10  success  so  probable  as  to  justify  it  ?  Where  is  the  mili- 
tary, where  the  naval  power,  by  which  we  are  to  resist 
the  whole  strength  of  the  arm  of  England;  for  she  will 
exert  that  strength  to  the  utmost?  Can  we  rely  on  the 
constancy  and  perseverance  of  the  people  ?  or  will  they 

15  not  act  as  the  people  of  other  countries  have  acted,  and, 
wearied  with  a  long  war,  submit,  in  the  end,  to  a  worse 
oppression?  While  we  stand  on  our  old  ground  and 
insist  on  redress  of  grievances,  we  know  we  are  right  and 
are  not  answerable  for  consequences.     Nothing,  then,  can 

20  be  imputed  to  us. 

But  if  we  now  change  our  object,  carry  our  pretensions 
farther,  and  set  up  for  absolute  independence,  we  shall 
lose  the  sympathy  of  mankind.  We  shall  no  longer  be 
defending  what  we  possess,  but  struggling  for  something 

25  which  we  never  did  possess,  and  which  we  have  solemnly 
and  uniformly  disclaimed  all  intention  of  pursuing,  from 
the  very  outset  of  the  troubles.  Abandoning  thus  our  old 
ground,  of  resistance  only  to  arbitrary  acts  of  oppression, 
the  nations  will  believe  the  whole  to  have  been  mere  pre- 

30  tence,  and  they  will  look  on  us,  not  as  injured,  but  as 
ambitious,  subjects.     I  shudder  before  this  responsibility. 
It  will  be  on  us,  if,  relinquishing  the  ground  we  have 
stood  on  so  long,  and  stood  on  so  safely,  we  now  proclaim 


156  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

independence,  and  carry  on  the  war  for  that  object,  while 
these  cities  bum,  these  pleasant  fields  whiten  and  bleach 
with  the  bones  of  their  owners,  and  these  streams  run 
blood.  It  will  be  upon  us,  it  will  be  upon  us,  if,  failing 
5  to  maintain  this  unseasonable  and  ill-judged  declaration, 
a  sterner  despotism,  maintained  by  military  power,  shall 
be  established  over  our  posterity,  when  we  ourselves,  given 
up  by  an  exhausted,  a  harassed,  a  misled  people,  shall 
have  expiated  our  rashness  and  atoned  for  our  presump- 
tion on  the  scaffold. 


XLVIIL  — MR    ADAMS'S    EEPLY   TO    THE    ABOVE. 

Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my 
hand  and  my  heart  to  this  vote.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that 
in  the  beginning  we  aimed  not  at  independence.  But 
there 's  a  divinity  which  shapes  our  ends.  The  injustice 
5  of  England  has  driven  us  to  arms ;  and,  blinded  to  her 
own  interest  for  our  good,  she  has  obstinately  persisted, 
till  independence  is  now  within  our  grasp.  We  have  but 
to  reach  forth  to  it,  and  it  is  ours.  Why,  then,  should 
we  defer  the  declaration  ? 

10  Is  any  man  so  weak  as  now  to  hope  for  a  reconciliation 
with  England,  which  shall  leave  either  safety  to  the 
country  and  its  liberties,  or  safety  to  his  own  life  and  his 
own  honor  ?  Are  not  you,  sir,  who  sit  in  that  chair,  is 
not  he,  our  venerable  colleague  near  you,  are  you  not  both 

15  already  the  proscribed  and  predestined  objects  of  punish- 
ment and  of  vengeance  ?  Cut  off  from  all  hope  of  royal 
clemency,  what  are  you,  what  can  you  be,  while  the 
power  of  England  remains,  but  outlaws  ?  If  we  postpone 
independence,  do  we  mean  to  carry  on  or  to  give  up  the 

20  war  ?  Do  we  mean  to  submit  to  the  measures  of  parlia- 
ment, Boston  Port  Bill  and  all  ?     Do  we  mean  to  submit, 


& 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  157 

and  consent  that  we  ourselves  shall  be  ground  to  powder, 
and  our  country  and  its  rights  trodden  down  in  the  dust  ? 
I  know  we  do  not  mean  to  submit.  AVe  never  shall 
submit.  Do  we  intend  to  violate  that  most  solemn  obli- 
5  gation  ever  entered  into  by  men,  that  plighting,  before 
God,  of  our  sacred  honor  to  Washington,  when,  puttin 
him  forth  to  incur  the  dangers  of  war,  as  well  as  the 
political  hazards  of  the  times,  we  promised  to  adhere  to 
him,  in  every  extremity,  with  our  fortunes  and  our  lives  ? 

10  I  know  there  is  not  a  man  here,  who  would  not  rather  see 
a  general  conflagration  sweep  over  the  land,  or  an  earth- 
quake sink  it,  than  one  jot  or  tittle  of  that  plighted  faith 
fall  to  the  ground.  For  myself,  having,  twelve  months 
ago,  in  this  place,  moved  you,  that  George  Washington  be 

15  appointed  commander  of  the  forces  raised,  or  to  be  raised, 
for  defence  of  American  liberty,  may  my  right  hand  for- 
get her  cunning,  and  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth,  if  I  hesitate  or  waver  in  the  support  I  give  him. 
The  war,  then,  must  go  on.     We  must  fight  it  through. 

20  And  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why  put  off  longer  the  decla- 
ration of  independence?  That  measure  will  strengthen 
us.  It  will  give  us  character  abroad.  The  nations  will 
then  treat  with  us,  which  they  never  can  do  while  we 
acknowledge  ourselves  subjects  in  arms  against  our  sov- 

25  ereign.  Nay,  I  maintain  that  England  herself  will  sooner 
treat  for  peace  with  us  on  the  footing  of  independence, 
than  consent,  by  repealing  her  acts,  to  acknowledge  that 
her  whole  conduct  toward  us  has  been  a  course  of  injustice 
and  oppression. 

30  Her  pride  will  be  less  wounded  by  submitting  to  that 
course  of  things  which  now  predestinates  our  independ- 
ence, than  by  yielding  the  points  in  controversy  to  her 
rebellious  subjects.  The  former  she  would  regard  as  the 
result  of  fortune ;  the  latter  she  would  feel  as  her  own 

35  deep  disgrace.     Why  then,  why  then,  sir,  do  we  not  as 
soon  as  possible  change  this  from  a  civil  to  a  national  war? 
14 


158  htllaed's  sixth  reader. 

And  since  we  must  fight  it  through,  why  not  put  ourselves 
in  a  state  to  enjoy  all  the  benefits  of  victory,  if  we  gain 
the  victory  ? 
If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us.  But  we  shall  not 
6  fail.  The  cause  will  raise  up  armies ;  the  cause  will  create 
navies.  The  people,  the  people,  if  we  are  true  to  them, 
will  carry  us,  and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously,  through 
this  struggle.  I  care  not  how  fickle  other  people  have 
been  found.     I  know  the  people  of  these  colonies,  and  I 

10  know  that  resistance  to  British  aggression  is  deep  and  set- 
tled in  their  hearts,  and  cannot  be  eradicated.  Every  col- 
ony, indeed,  has  expressed  its  willingness  to  follow,  if  we 
but  take  the  lead. 

Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  in- 

15  creased  courage.  Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  the 
restoration  of  privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for 
chartered  immunities  held  under  a  British  king,  set  be- 
fore them  the  glorious  object  of  entire  independence,  and 
it  will  breathe  into  them  anew  the  breath  of  life.     Bead 

20  this  declaration  at  the  head  of  the  army  ;  every  sword  will 
be  drawn  from  its  scabbard,  and  the  solemn  vow  uttered, 
to  maintain  it,  or  to  perish  on  the  bed  of  honor.  Publish 
it  from  the  pulpit ;  religion  will  approve  it,  and  the  love 
of  religious  liberty  will  cling  round  it,  resolved  to  stand 

25  with  it,  or  fall  with  it.  Seiid  it  to  the  public  halls  ;  pro- 
claim it  there ;  let  them  hear  it  who  heard  the  first  roar  of 
the  enemy's  cannon ;  let  them  see  it  who  saw  their  brothers 
and  their  sons  fall  on  the  field  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  in  the 
streets  of  Lexington  and  Concord,  and  the  very  walls  will 

30  cry  out  in  its  support. 

Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs,  but  I  see, 
I  see  clearly  through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I,  in- 
deed, may  rue  it.  We  may  not  live  to  the  time  when  this 
declaration  shall  be  made  good.     We  may  die ;  die  colo- 

35  nists ;  die  slaves ;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously,  and  on 
the  scaffold.     Be  it  so.     Be  it  so.     If  it  be  the  pleasure  of 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  159 

Heaven  tliat  my  country  shall  require  the  poor  oflFering  of 
my  life,  the  victim  shall  be  ready,  at  the  appointed  hour  of 
sacrifice,  come  when  that  hour  may.  But  while  I  do  live, 
let  me  have  a  country,  or  at  least  the  hope  of  a  country, 
5  and  that  a  free  country. 

But  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured,  be  assured 
that  this  declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure, 
and  it  may  cost  blood ;  but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will 
richly  compensate  for  both.     Through  the  thick  gloom  of 

10  the  present,  I  see  the  brightness  of  the  future  as  the  sun 
in  heaven.  We  shall  make  this  a  glorious,  an  immortal 
day.  When  we  are  in  our  graves,  our  children  will  honor 
it.  They  will  celebrate  it  with  thanksgiving,  with  festiv- 
ity, with  bonfires,  and  illuminations.     On  its  annual  re- 

15  turn,  they  will  shed  tears,  copious,  gushing  tears,  not  of 
subjection  and  slavery,  not  of  agony  and  distress,  but  of 
exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of  joy. 

Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My  judg- 
,ment  approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it. 

20  All  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope  in 
this  life,  I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it ;  and  I 
leave  ofi"  as  I  begun,  that,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I 
am  for  the  declaration.  It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and 
by  the  blessing  of  God  it  shall  be  my  dying  sentiment,  — 
independence,  now,  and  independence  forever  ! 


XLIX  — DEATH   AND   BUKIAL   OF   LITTLE   NELL. 

Dickens. 

[Charles  Dickens,  tte  most  popular  living  novelist,  perhaps  the  most 
popular  living  writer  of  England,  was  born  in  Portsmouth,  England,  Feb- 
ruary 7,  1812.  His  first  work  —  a  series  of  sketches  under  the  name  of  "  Boz  " 
—was  published  in  1836.  and  though  it  showed  brilliant  descriptive  powers, 
did  not  attract  great  attention.  But  the  "Pickwick  Papers,"  which  appeared 
the  next  year,  fairly  took  the  world  by  storm,  and  lifted  the  author  up  to  a 
dizzy  height  of  popularity,  equalled  by  nothing  since  Scott  and  Byron.   Since 


160  hiixaed's  sixth  eeader. 

then  he  has  written  many  novels  and  tales,  besides  sketches  of  travel  in  Italy 
and  in  America,  (he  was  here  in  1842,)  in  which  last  his  genius  appears  to  less 
advantage  than  in  his  works  of  fiction. 

His  most  striking  characteristic  is  a  peculiar  and  original  vein  of  humor, 
shown  in  sketches  taken  from  low  life,  and  expressing  itself  by  the  most 
quaint,  grotesque,  and  unexpected  combinations  of  ideas.  His  Sam  Weller — 
a  character  he  has  never  surpassed  —  is  the  type  of  his  creations  of  this  class  ; 
and  it  is  a  truly  original  conception,  and  very  well  sustained. 

He  is  hardly  less  successful  in  his  pathetic  passages  than  in  his  humorous 
delineations.  He  excels  in  scenes  which  paint  sickness  and  death,  especially 
of  the  lovely  and  the  young.  His  pages  have  been  blistered  by  many  a  tear. 
The  extract  in  the  text  is  alone  enough  to  prove  his  great  power  over  the 
sympathies  of  the  heart. 

He  has  also  uncommon  skill  in  the  minute  representation  of  scenes  of  still 
life,  which  he  paints  with  the  sharp  fidelity  of  a  Dutch  artist.  He  depicts  a 
bar-room,  a  kitchen,  a  court  of  justice,  or  a  prison,  in  such  away  as  to  be  next 
to  seeing  them.  He  sometimes  uses  this  gift  to  a  greater  extent  than  the  taste 
of  his  readers  approve. 

The  tone  of  Dickens's  writings  is  sound  and  healthy ;  though  he  takes  us  a 
little  too  much  into  scenes  of  low  life,  and  obtrudes  his  evil  and  hateful  char- 
acters upon  us  more  than  we  could  wish.  He  has  a  poetical  imagination,  and 
a  heart  full  of  genial  charities.  The  generous  and  sympathetic  tone  of  his 
writings  is  one  of  their  most  powerful  attractions.  He  has  a  hatred  of  op- 
pression and  injustice  in  all  their  forms,  and  is  ever  ready  to  take  sides  with 
the  victim  and  the  sufferer.  His  great  literary  reputation  has  given  him  much 
influence  in  England ;  and  this  has  been  uniformly  exercised  in  behalf  of  those 
social  reforms  in  which  our  English  brethren  have  been  of  late  years  so  much 
engaged,  and  with  such  honor  to  themselves. 

The  following  extract  is  from  "  Master  Humphrey's  Clock,"  a  novel  published 
originally  in  1841.  Little  Nell  is  one  of  the  sweetest  and  purest  of  all  his  crea- 
tions ;  and  her  life  and  death  have  touched  many  thousands  of  hearts.  She  is 
represented  in  the  novel  as  the  constant  attendant  of  her  grandfather,  an  affec- 
tionate old  man,  but  weak  in  moral  energy.  She  glides  like  a  sunbeam  of  grace 
and  innocence  through  many  a  troubled  scene ;  but  the  burden  of  life  is  too 
heavy  for  her  delicate  spirit,  and  she  thus  gently  lays  it  down.] 

By  little  and  little,  the  old  man  had  drawn  hack  towards 
the  inner  chamber,  while  these  words  were  spoken.  He 
pointed  there,  as  he  replied,  with  trembling  lips,  — 

"  You  plot  among  you  to  wean  my  heart  from  her.  You 
5  will  never  do  that  —  never  while  I  have  life.  I  have  no  rel- 
ative or  friend  but  her  —  I  never  had  —  I  never  will  have. 
She  is  all  in  all  to  me.     It  is  too  late  to  part  us  now." 

Waving  them  off  with  his  hand,  and  calling  softly  to  her 

10  as  he  went,  he  stole  into  the  room.     They  who  were  left 

behind    drew  close  together,  and   after  a  few  whispered 

words,  —  not  unbroken  by  emotion,  or  easily  uttered,  — 


iiillard's  sixth  keadee.  161 

followed  him.  They  moved  so  gently  that  their  footsteps 
made  no  noise  ;  but  there  were  sobs  from  among  the  group, 
and  sounds  of  grief  and  mourning. 

For  she  was  dead.     There,  upon  her  little  bed,  she  lay 
5  at  rest.     The  solemn  stillness  was  no  marvel  now. 

She  was  dead.  No  sleep  so  beautiful  and  calm,  so  free 
from  trace  of  pain,  so  fair  to  look  upon.  She  seemed  a 
creature  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God,  and  waiting  for  the 
breath  of  life ;  not  one  who  had  lived  and  suffered  death. 

10  Her  couch  was  dressed  with  here  and  there  some  winter 
berries  and  green  leaves,  gathered  in  a  spot  she  had  been 
used  to  favor.  "  When  I  die,  put  near  me  something  that 
has  loved  the  light,  and  had  the  sky  above  it  always." 
These  were  her  words. 

15  She  w?;s  dead.  Dear,  gentle,  patient,  noble  Nell  was 
dead.  Her  little  bird  —  a  poor  slight  thing  the  pressure 
of  a  finger  would  have  crushed  —  was  stirring  nimbly  in 
its  cage :  and  the  strong  heart  of  its  child-mistress  was 
mute  and  motionless  forever.  , 

20  AVhere  were  the  traces  of  her  early  cares,  her  sufferings, 
and  fatigues  ?  All  gone.  His  was  the  true  death  before 
their  weeping  eyes.  Sorrow  was  dead  indeed  in  her,  but 
peace  and  perfect  happiness  were  born;  imaged  in  ho, 
tranquil  beauty  and  profound  repose. 

25  And  still  her  former  self  lay  there,  unaltered  in  this 
change.  Yes.  i  The  old  fireside  had  smiled  on  that  same 
sweet  face ;  it  had  passed  like  a  dream  through  haunts  of 
misery  and  care ;  at  the  door  of  the  poor  schoolmaster  on 
the  summer  evening,  before  the  furnace  fire  upon  the  cold, 

30  wet  night,  at  the  still  bedside  of  the  dying  boy,  there  had 
been  the  same  mild,  lovely  look.  So  shall  we  know  the 
angels  in  their  majesty,  after  death. 

The  old  man  held  one  languid  arm  in  Lis,  and  kept  the 
small  hand  tight  folded  to  his  breast,  for  warmth.     It  was 

35  the  hand  she  had  stretched  out  to  him  with  her  last  smile 

—  the  hand  that  had  led  him  on  through  all  their  wander- 
14* 


1<52 


ings.  Ever  and  anon  lie  pressed  it  to  his  lips ;  then  hugged 
it  to  his  breast  again,  munr.uring  that  it  was  warmer  now  ; 
and  as  he  said  it,  he  looked,  in  agony,  to  those  who  stood 
around,  as  if  imploring  them  to  help  her. 
5  She  was  dead,  and  past  all  help,  or  need  of  it.  The 
ancient  rooms  she  had  seemed  to  fill  with  life,  even  while 
her  own  was  ebbing  fast  —  the  garden  she  had  tended  — 
the  eyes  she  had  gladdened  —  the  noiseless  haunts  of  many 
a  thoughtless  hour  —  the  paths  she  had  trodden  as  it  were 

10  but  yesterday  —  could  know  her  no  more. 

"  It  is  not,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  as  he  bent  down  to 
kiss  her  on  the  cheek,  and  gave  his  tears  free  vent,  —  "it 
is  not  in  this  world  that  heaven's  justice  ends.  Think  what 
earth  is  compared  with  the  world  to  which  her  young  spirit 

15  has  winged  its  early  flight,  and  say,  if  one  deliberate  wish 
expressed  in  solemn  terms  above  this  bed  could  call  her 
back  to  life,  which  of  us  would  utter  it !  " 

AYhen  morning  came,  and  they  could  speak  more  calmly 
on  the  subject  of  their  grief,  they  heard  how  her  life  had 

20'clo'sed. 

She  had  been  dead  two  days.  They  were  all  about  her 
at  the  time,  knowing  that  the  end  was  drawing  on.  She 
died  soon  after  daybreak.  'They  had  read  and  talked  to 
her  in  the  earlier  portion  of  the  night ;  but  as  the  hours 

25  crept  on,  she  sank  to  sleep.  They  could  tell,  by  what  she 
faintly  uttered  in  her  dreams,  that  they  were  of  her  jour- 
ncyings  with  the  old  man  ;  they  were  of  no  painful  scenes, 
but  of  those  who  had  helped  and  used  them  kindly,  for  she 
often  said  "  God  bless  you  !  "  with  great  fervor.     Waking, 

80  she  never  wandered  in  her  mind  but  once,  and  that  was  of 
beautiful  music  which  she  said  was  in  the  air.  It  may 
have  been. 

Opening  her  eyes  at  last,  from  a  very  quiet  sleep,  she 
begged  that  they  would  kiss  her  once  again.    That  done,  she 

35  turned  to  the  old  man  with  a  lovely  smile  upon  her  face, 
—  such,  they  said,  as  they  had  never  seen,  and  never  could 


tlEADER.  163 

forget,  —  and  clung  with  both  her  arms  ahout  his  neck. 
They  did  not  know  that  she  was  dead,  at  first. 

For  the  rest,  she  had  never  murmured  or  complained ; 
but  with  a  quiet  mind,  and  manner  quite  unaltered,  —  save 
5  that  she  every  day  became  more  earnest  and  more  grateful 
to  them,  —  faded  like  the  light  upon  the  summer's  evening. 

And  now  the  bell  —  the  bell  she  had  so  often  heard  by  ] 
night  and  day,  and  listened  to  with  solemn  pleasure  almost 
as  a  living  voice  —  rung  its  remorseless  toll   for  her,  so 

10  young,  so  beautiful,  so  good.  Decrepit  age,  and  vigorous 
life,  and  blooming  youth,  and  helpless  infancy  poured  forth 
—  on  crutches,  in  the  pride  of  strength  and  health,  in  the 
full  blush  of  promise,  in  the  mere  dawn  of  life  —  to  gather 
round  her  tomb.     Old  men  were  there,  whose  eyes  were 

15  dim  and  senses  failing  —  grandmothers,  who  might  have 
died  ten  years  ago,  and  still  been  old  —  the  deaf,  the  blind, 
the  lame,  the  palsied,  the  living  dead  in  many  shapes  and 
forms,  to  see  the  closing  of  that  early  grave.  What  was 
the  death  it  would  shut  in,  to  that  which  still  could  crawl 

20  and  creep  above  it ! 

Along  the  crowded  path  they  bore  her  now,  pure  as  the 
newly-fallen  snow  that  covered  it,  whose  day  on  earth  had 
been  as  fleeting.  Under  the  porch,  where  she  had  sat  when 
Heaven  in  its  mercy  brought  her  to  that  peaceful  spot,  she 

25  passed  again,  and  the  old  church  received  her  in  its  quiet 
shade. 

They  carried  her  to  one  old  nook,  where  she  had  many 
and  many  a  time  sat  musing,  and  laid  their  burden  softly 
on  the  pavement.     The  light  streamed  on  it  through  the 

30  colored  window — a  window  where  the  boughs  of  trees 
were  ever  rustling  in  the  summer,  and  where  the  birds  sang 
sweetly  all  day  long.  With  every  breath  of  air  that  stirred 
among  those  branches  in  the  sunshine,  some  trembling, 
changing  light  would  fall  upon  her  grave. 

35  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.  Many  a 
young  hand  dropped  in  its  little  wreath,  many  a  stifled  sob 


,4r 


j  was  heard.     Some  —  and  they  were  not  few  —  knelt  down. 
All  were  sincere  and  truthful  in  their  son  w. 

The  service  done,  the  mourners  stood  apart,  and  the  vil- 
lagers closed  round  to  look  into  the  grave  before  the  pave- 
5  ment-stone  should  he  replaced.     One  called  to  mind  how 
he  had  seen  her  sitting  on  that  very  spot,  and  how  her  book 
had  fallen  on  her  lap,  and  she  was  gazing  with  a  pensive 
face  upon  the  sky.     Another  told  how  he  had  wondered 
much  that  one  so  delicate  as  she  should  be  so  bold,  how 
10  she  had  never  feared  to  enter  the  church  alone  at  night, 
but  had  loved  to  linger  there  when  all  was  quiet,  and  even 
to  climb  the  tower  stair,  with  no  more  light  than  that  of 
the  moon's  rays  stealing  through  the  loopholes  in  the  thick, 
old  wall. 
15       A  whisper  went  about  among  the  oldest  there,  that  she 
had  seen  and  talked  with  angels ;  and  when  they  called 
to  mind  how  she  had  looked,  and  spoken,  and  her  early 
death,  some  thought  it  might  be  so  indeed.     Thus  coming 
to  the  grave  in  little  knots,  and  glancing  down,  and  giving 
20  place  to  others,   and  falling  oflf  in  whispering  groups  of 
three  or  four,  the  church  was  cleared,  in  time,  of  all  but  the 
^sexton  and  the  mourning  friends. 
'^*-;^sj^  They  saw  the  vault  covered  and  the  stone  fixed  down. 
iyld^  5fiwi,  when  the  dusk  of  evening  had  come  on,  and  not  a 
>  25  sound  disturbed  the  sacred  stillness  of  the  place,  —  when 
the  bright  moon  poured  in  her  light  on  tomb  and  monu- 
ment, on  pillar,  wall,  and  arch,  and  most  of  all,  (it  seemed 
to  them,)  upon  her  quiet  grave,  —  in  that  calm  time,  when 
all  outward  things  and  inward  thoughts  teem  with  assur- 
30  ances  of  immortality,   and  worldly  hopes  and  fears  are 
humbled  in  the  dust  before  them,  —  then,  with  tranquil 
and  submissive  hearts,  they  turned  away,  and  left  the  child 
with  God.   . 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  165 


L.— ADDKESS    TQ    THE    MUMMY   IN   BELZ^NI'S 
EXHIBITION,    LONDON. 

Horace  Smith. 
[Horace  Smith,  a  native  of  London,  died  in  July,  1849,  in  the  seventieth 
year  of  his  age.  In  1812,  in  conjunction  with  his  elder  brother,  James  Smith, 
he  published  a  volume  called  "  Rejected  Addresses,"  consisting  of  imitations 
of  the  popular  poets  of  the  day.  It  had  great  and  deserved  success,  and  has 
since  been  frequently  reprinted.  Horace  Smith  was  a  stock  broker  by  pro- 
fession ;  but  in  the  leisure  hours  stolen  from  his  employment,  he  wrote  a 
number  of  works  of  fiction,  which  were  received  with  favor,  and  many  con- 
tributions, both  in  verse  and  prose,  to  the  magazines  of  the  time.  His  poems 
have  been  collected  and  published  in  two  volumes.  He  was  a  very  amiable 
and  estimable  man.  J 

1  And  thou  hast  walked  about  (how  strange  a  story !) 

In  Thebes' s=-=  streets  three  thousand  years  ago, 
When  the  Memnonium  f  was  in  all  its  glory, 

And  time  had  not  begun  to  overthrow 
Those  temples,  palaces,  and  piles  stupendous, 
Of  which  the  very  ruins  are  tremendous. 

2  Speak  !  for  thou  long  enough  hast  acted  dummy ; 

Thou  hast  a  tongue  —  come,  let  us  hear  its  tune ; 
Thou  'rt  standing  on  thy  legs,  above  ground.  Mummy, 

Eevisiting  the  glimpses  of  the  moon ; 
Not  like  thin  ghosts  or  disembodied  creatures, 
But  with  thy  bones,  and  flesh,  and  limbs,  and  features. 

3  Tell  us  —  for  doubtless  thou  canst  recollect  — 

To  whom  should  we  assign  the  sphinx's  J  fame? 
"Was  Cheops  or  Cephrenes  architect 

Of  either  pyramid  that  bears  his  name  ?  § 

*  Thebes  was  a  celebrated  city  of  Upper  Egypt,  of  which  extensive  ruins 
still  remain. 

t  The  Memnonium  was  a  building  combining  the  properties  of  a  palace  and 
a  temple,  the  ruins  of  which  are  remarkable  for  symmetry  of  architecture  and 
elegance  of  sculpture. 

X  The  great  sphinx,  at  tlic  pyramids,  is  hewn  out  of  a  rock,  in  the  form  of  a 
lion  with  a  human  head,  and  is  one  hundred  and  forty-three  feet  in  length,  and 
sixty-two  feet  in  height  in  front. 

§  The  pyramids  are  well-known  structures  near  Cairo.  According  to  Herod- 
otus, the  great  pyramid,  so  called,  was  built  by  Cheops,  (pronounced  Ke'ops). 
H  e  was  succeeded  by  his  brother  Cephren  or  Cephrenes,  (pronounced  Sef  re-ne§,) 
who,  according  to  the  same  historian,  built  another  of  the  pyramids. 


166  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Is  Pompey's  Pillar  really  a  misnomer  ?  ^ 

Had  Thebes  a  hundred  gates,  as  sung  by  Homer  ? 

4  Perhaps  thou  wert  a  Mason,  and  forbidden 

By  oath  to  tell  the  mysteries  of  thy  trade ; 
Then  say  what  secret  melody  was  hidden 

In  Memnon's  statue,  which  at  sunrise  played. f 
Perhaps  thou  wert  a  priest ;  if  so,  my  struggles 
Are  vain ;  Egyptian  priest  ne'er  owned  his  juggles. 

5  Perchance  that  very  hand,  now  pinioned  flat, 

Has  hob-a-nobbed  with  Pharoah,  glass  to  glass: 
Or  dropped  a  halfpenny  in  Homer's  hat; 

Or  doffed  thine  own  to  let  Queen  Dido  pass ; 
Or  held,  by  Solomon's  own  invitation, 

A  torch  at  the  great  temple's  dedication. 

6  I  need  not  ask  thee  if  that  hand,  when  armed. 

Has  any  Eoman  soldier  mauled  and  knuckled ; 
Por  thou  wert  dead,  and  buried,  and  embalmed, 

Ere  Komulus  and  Kemus  had  been  suckled :  — • 
Antiquity  appears  to  have  begun 
Long  after  thy  primeval  race  was  run. 

7  Since  first  thy  form  was  in  this  box  extended, 

We  have,  above  ground,  seen  some  strange  mutations ; 
The  Koman  empire  has  begun  and  ended ; 

New  worlds  have  risen — we  have  lost  old  nations, 
And  countless  kings  have  into  dust  been  humbled, 
While  not  a  fragment  of  thy  flesh  has  crumbled. 

8  Didst  thou  not  hear  the  pother  o'er  thy  head 

When  the  great  Persian  conqueror,  Cambyses, 

*  Pompey's  Pillar  is  a  column  almost  a  hundred  feet  high,  near  Alexandria. 
It  is  now  generally  admitted  by  the  learned  to  have  had  no  connection  with  the 
Koman  general  whose  name  it  bears. 

t  This  was  a  statue  at  Thebes,  said  to  utter  at  sunrise  a  sound  like  the 
twanging  of  a  harpstring  or  of  a  metallic  wire. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  167 

Marched  armies  o'er  thy  tomb  with  thundering  tread/-' 

O'erthrew  Osiris,  Orus,  Apis,  Isis,  f 
And  shook  the  pyramids  with  fear  and  wonder, 
When  the  gigantic  Memnon  fell  asunder  ? 

9     If  the  tomb's  secrets  may  not  be  confessed, 
The  nature  of  thy  private  life  unfold :  — 

A  heart  has  throbbed  beneath  that  leathern  breast, 
And  tears  adown  that  dusky  cheek  hav'S  Tolled :  — 

Have  children  climbed  those  knees,  and  kissed  that  face? 

What  were  thy  name  and  station,  age  and  race  ? 

10  Statue  of  flesh  —  immortal  of  the  dead! 

Imperishable  type  of  evanescence  ! 
Posthumous  man,  who  quitt'st  thy  narrow  bed, 

And  standest  undecayed  within  our  presence. 
Thou  wilt  hear  nothing  till  the  judgment  morning, 
When  the  great  trump  shall  thrill  thee  with  its  warning. 

11  Why  should  this  worthless  tegument  endure, 

If  its  undying  guest  be  lost  forever  ? 
0,  let  us  keep  the  soul  embalmed  and  pure 

In  living  virtue ;  that  when  both  must  sever, 
Although  corruption  may  our  frame  consume, 
The  immortal  spirit  in  the  skies  may  bloom.- 


LL  — SPANISH   WAK   SONG. 

Fling  forth  the  proud  banner  of  Leon  again  ; 
Let  the  watchword,  Castile,  go  resounding  through  Spain ! 
And  thou,  free  Asturias,  encamped  on  the  height. 
Pour  down  thy  dark  sons  to  the  vintage  of  fight ; 

*Eg-ypt  was  conquered  525  B.  c,  by  Cambyses,  the  Becond  king  of  Persia, 
t  These  are  the  names  of  Egyptian  deities. 


168  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Wake  !  wake !  the  old  soil  where  our  warriors  repose, 
Rings  hollow  and  deep  to  the  trampling  of  foes. 
The  voices  are  mighty  that  swell  from  the  past, 
With  Aragon's  cry  on  the  shrill  mountain  blast; 
5  The  ancient  Sierras  give  strength  to  our  tread, 

Their  pines  murmur  song  where  bright  blood  hath  been  shed. 

riing  forth  the  proud  banner  of  Leon  again, 

And  shout  ye,  "  Castile !  to  the  rescue  for  Spain !  " 


LII.  —  HALLOWED   GKOUND. 

Campbell. 
What  's  hallowed  ground  ?     Has  earth  a  clod 
Its  Maker  meant  not  should  be  trod 
By  man,  the  image  of  his  God, 

Erect  and  free, 
Unscourged  by  Superstition's  rod 

To  bow  the  knee  ? 

Is  't  death  to  fall  for  Freedom's  right  ? 
He  's  dead  alone  that  lacks  her  light ! 
And  murder  sullies  in  Heaven's  sight 

The  sword  he  draws  :  — 
What  can  alone  ennoble  fight  ? 

A  noble  cause ! 

Give  that !  and  welcome  War  to  brace 

Her  drums  !  and  rend  Heaven's  reeking  space ! 

The  colors  planted  face  to  face, 

The  charging  cheer, 
Though  Death's  pale  horse  lead  on  the  chase, 

Shall  still  be  dear. 

And  place  our  trophies  where  men  kneel 
To  Heaven  !  but  Heaven  rebukes  my  zeal. 


hillard's  sixth  header.  169 

0  God  above ! 
The  cause  of  Truth  and  human  weal, 
Transfer  it  from  the  sword's  appeal 

To  Peace  and  Love. 

6    Peace,  Love  !  the  cherubim  that  join 
Their  spread  wings  o'er  Devotion's  shrine, 
Prayers  sound  in  vain,  and  temples  shine, 

Where  they  are  not  — 
The  heart  alone  can  make  divine 

Keligion's  spot. 

6  To  incantations  dost  thou  trust, 
And  pompous  rites  in  domes  august  ? 
See  mouldering  stones  and  metal's  rust 

Belie  the  vaunt 
That  men  can  bless  one  pile  of  dust 
AVith  chime  or  chant. 

7  The  ticking  wood- worm  mocks  thee,  man ! 
Thy  temples  —  creeds  themselves  grow  wan 
But  there  's  a  dome  of  nobler  span, 

A  temple  given 
Thy  faith,  that  bigots  dare  not  ban  — 
Its  space  is  Heaven  ! 

8  Its  roof  star-pictured  Nature's  ceiling. 
Where,  trancing  the  rapt  spirit's  feeling, 
And  God  himself  to  man  revealing. 

The  harmonious  spheres 
Make  music,  though  unheard  their  pealing 
By  mortal  ears. 

9  Fair  stars  !  are  not  your  beings  pure  ? 
Can  sin,  can  death,  your  worlds  obscure  ? 
Else  why  so  swell  the  thoughts  at  your 

15 


170  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Aspect  above  ?  * 

Ye  must  be  Heavens  tbat  make  us  sure 
Of  beavenly  love ! 

10    And  in  your  harmony  sublime 
I  read  the  doom  of  distant  time ; 
That  man's  regenerate  soul  from  crime 

Shall  yet  be  drawn, 
And  reason  on  his  mortal  clime 

Immortal  dawn. 

11     What 's  hallowed  ground  ?     'T  is  what  gives  birth 
To  sacred  thoughts  in  souls  of  worth  !  — 
Peace  !  Independence  !  Truth  !  go  forth 

Earth's  compass  round ; 
And  your  high  priesthood  shall  make  earth 
All  hallowed  ground! 


LIII.  —  FASHIONABLE    PARTIES    IN    NEW    NETH- 
EELANDS. 
Washington  Irving. 
In  those  happy  days,  a  well-regulated  family  always 
rose  with  the  dawn,  dined  at  eleven,  and  went  to  bed  at 
sunset.     Dinner  was  invariably  a  private  meal,  and  the 
fat  old  burghers  showed  incontestable  signs  of  disapproba- 
5  tion  and  uneasiness  at  being  surprised  by  a  visit  from  a 
neighbor  on  such  occasions.     But  though  our  worthy  an- 
cestors were  thus  singularly  averse  to  giving  dinners,  yet 
they  kept  up  the  social  bands  of  intimacy  by  occasional 
banquetings,  called  tea-parties. 
10       These  fashionable  parties  were  generally  confined  to  the 
higher  classes,  or  noblesse,  that  is  to  say,  such  as  kept 
their  own  cows,  and  drove  their  own  wagons.     The  com- 
pany commonly  assembled  at  three  o'clock,  and  went  away 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  171 

about  six,  unless  it  was  in  winter-time,  when  the  fashion- 
able hours  were  a  little  earlier,  that  the  ladies  might  get 
home  before  dark.  The  tea-table  was  crowned  with  a 
huge  earthen  dish,  well  stored  with  slices  of  fat  pork, 
5  fried  brown,  cut  up  into  morsels,  and  swimming  in  gravy. 
The  company  being  seated  round  the  genial  board,  and 
each  furnished  with  a  fork,  evinced  their  dexterity  in 
launching  at  the  fattest  pieces  in  this  mighty  dish  —  in 
much  the  same  manner  as  sailors  harpoon  porpoises  at  sea, 

10  or  our  Indians  spear  salmon  in  the  lakes.  Sometimes  the 
table  was  graced  .with  immense  apple-pies,  or  saucers  full 
of  preserved  peaches  and  pears ;  but  it  was  always  sure  to 
boast  an  enormous  dish  of  balls  of  sweetened  dough,  fried 
in  hog's  fat,  and  called  doughnuts,  or  olykoeks  —  a  deli- 

15  cious  kind  of  cake,  at  present  scarce  known  in  this  city, 
except  in  genuine  Dutch  families. 

The  tea  was  served  out  of  a  majestic  delft  tea-pot,  orna- 
mented with  paintings  of  fat  little  Dutch  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  tending  pigs  —  with  boats  sailing  in  the  air, 

20  and  houses  built  in  the  clouds,  and  sundry  other  ingen- 
ious Dutch  fantasies.  The  beaux  distinguished  themselves 
by  their  adroitness  in  replenishing  this  pot  from  a  huge 
copper  tea-kettle,  which  would  have  made  the  pigmy  maca- 
ronies of  these  degenerate  days  sweat  merely  to  look  at  it. 

25  To  sweeten  the  beverage,  a  lump  of  sugar  was  laid  beside 
each  cup  —  and  the  company  alternately  nibbled  and 
sipped  with  great  decorum,  until  an  improvement  was 
introduced  by  a  shrewd  and  economic  old  lady,  which  was 
to  suspend  a  large  lump  directly  over  the  tea-table,  by  a 

30  string  from  the  ceiling,  so  that  it  could  be  swung  from 
mouth  to  mouth  —  an  ingenious  expedient,  which  is  still 
kept  up  by  some  families  in  Albany  ;  but  which  prevails 
without  exception  in  Communipaw,  Bergen,  Flatbush,  and 
all  our  uncontaminated  Dutch  villages. 

35  At  these  primitive  tea-parties  the  utmost  propriety  and 
dignity  of  deportment  prevailed.     No  flirting  nor  coquet- 


172  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

ting  —  no  gambling  of  old  ladies  nor  hoyden  chattering 
and  romping  of  young  ones  —  no  self-satisfied  struttings  of 
wealthy  gentlemen,  with  their  brains  in  their  pockets  — 
nor  amusing  conceits,  and  monkey  divertisements,  of  smart 
5  young  gentlemen,  with  no  brains  at  all.  On  the  contrary, 
the  young  ladies  seated  themselves  demurely  in  their  rush- 
bottomed  chairs,  and  knit  their  own  woollen  stockings  ; 
nor  ever  opened  their  lips,  excepting  to  say  yes  or  no,  to 
any  question  that  was  asked  them ;  behaving,  in  all  things, 

10  like  decent,  well-educated  damsels.  As  to  the  gentlemen, 
each  of  them  tranquilly  smoked  his  pipe,  and  seemed  lost 
in  contemplation  of  the  blue  and  white  tiles  with  which 
the  fireplaces  were  decorated  ;  wherein  sundry  passages  of 
Scripture  were  piously  portrayed. 

15  The  parties  broke  up  without  noise  and  without  confu- 
sion. They  were  carried  home  by  their  own  carriages, 
that  is  to  say,  by  the  vehicles  nature  had  provided  them, 
excepting  such  of  the  wealthy  as  could  afibrd  to  keep  a 
wagon.     The  gentlemen  gallantly  attended  their  fair  ones 

20  to  their  respective  abodes,  and  took  leave  of  them  with  a 
hearty  smack  at  the  door :  which,  as  it  was  an  established 
piece  of  etiquette,  done  in  perfect  simplicity  and  honesty 
of  heart,  occasioned  no  scandal  at  that  time,  nor  should  it 
at  the  present  —  if  our  great-grandfathers  approved  of  the 

25  custom,  it  would  argue  a  great  want  of  reverence  in  their 
descendants  to  say  a  word  against  it. 


iiillard's  sixth  reader.  173 

LIY.  — THE    BATTLE    OF    BUNKEE   HILL. 

Bancroft. 

[George  Bancroft  was  born  in  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  in  1800,  and 
was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1817.  In  tlie  following  year  he  went  to 
Europe,  and  remained  there  about  four  years,  mostly  in  Germany.  For  some 
years  after  his  return  he  was  employed  in  the  practical  duties  of  a  teacher,  first 
in  Harvard  Colleg-e,  and  afterwards  as  one  of  the  principals  of  a  seminary  upon 
Round  Hill,  in  Northampton.  In  1838  he  was  appointed  collector  of  the  port 
of  Boston,  and  in  1844  he  took  a  seat  in  the  cabinet  of  President  Polk,  as  sec- 
retary of  the  navy ;  resigning  that  post  in  1846,  he  was  appointed  minister 
plenipotentiary  to  the  court  of  Great  Britain,  and  continued  in  that  station  till 
1849.    Since  that  date,  he  has  been  a  resident  of  the  city  of  New  York. 

His  great  work,  "  The  History  of  the  United  States,"  has  now  reached  eight 
volumes,  the  first  having  been  published  in  1834.  It  is  a  production  of  marked 
and  peculiar  merit,  presenting  the  results  of  extensive  and  elaborate  research 
in  a  condensed  form,  and  showing  an  uncommon  power  of  analysis  and  gener- 
alization. His  style  is  vivid,  animated,  and  picturesque ;  full  of  point  and 
energy ;  but  somewhat  abrupt  in  its  transitions,  and  rather  wanting  in  sim- 
plicity and  repose.  His  speculations  are  often  acute  and  profound,  but  they 
occupy  more  of  his  pages  than  the  taste  of  some  of  his  readers  approves ;  and 
the  dispassionate  seeker  after  truth  is  occasionally  merged  in  the  fervid  and 
eloquent  advocate.] 

The  British  advanced  in  line  in  good  order,  steadily 

and  slowly,  and  with  a  confident  imposing  air,  pausing  on 

the  march  to  let  their  artillery  prepare  the  way,  and  firing 

with  muskets  as  they  advanced.     But  they  fired  too  soon, 

5  and  too  high,  doing  but  little  injury. 

Encumbered  with  their  knapsacks,  they  ascended  the 
steep  hill  with  difficulty,  covered  as  it  was  with  grass 
reaching  to  their  knees,  and  intersected  with  walls  and 
fences.     Prescott  waited   till  the  enemy  had  approached 
10  within  eight  rods  as  he  afterwards  thought,  within  ten  or 
twelve  rods  as  the  committee  of  safety  of  Massachusetts 
wrote,  when  he  gave  the  word:   "Fire."     A^  once  from 
vthe  redoubt,  and  breastwork,  every  gun  was  discharged. 
■^  Nearly  the  whole  front  rank  of  the  enemy  fell,  and  the 
15  rest,  to  whom  this  determined  resistance  was  unexpected, 
were  brought  to  a  stand.     For  a  few  minutes,  fifteen  or 
ten,  who  can  count  such  minutes !  each  one  of  the  Ameri- 
cans,   completely  covered  while   he   loaded   his   musket, 
exposed  only  while  he  stood  upon  the  wooden  platform  or 
15* 


174  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

steps  of  earth  in  the  redoubt  to  take  aim,  fought  according 
to  his  own  judgment  and  will ;  and  a  close  and  unremitting 
fire  was  continued  and  returned,  till  the  British  staggered, 
wavered,  and  then  in  disordered  masses  retreated  precipi- 
5  tately  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  some  even  to  their  boats. 
The  column  of  the  enemy  which  advanced  near  the 
Mystic  "  under  the  lead  of  Howe,  moved  gallantly  forward 
against  the  rail-fence,  and  when  within  eighty  or  one  hun- 
dred yards,  displayed  into  line,  with  the  precision  of  troops 

10  on  parade.  Here,  too,  the  Americans,  commanded  by  Stark 
and  Knowlton,  cheered  on  by  Putnam,  who  like  Prescott 
bade  them  reserve  their  fire,  restrained  themselves  as  if  by 
universal  consent,  till  at  the  proper  moment,  resting  their 
guns  on  the  rails  of  the  fence,  they  poured  forth  a  delib- 

15  erate,  well-directed,  fatal  discharge.  Here,  too,  the  British 
recoiled  from  the  volley,  and  after  a  short  contest,  were 
thrown  into  confusion,  and  fell  back  till  they  were  covered 
by  the  ground. 

Then  followed  moments  of  joy  in  that  unfinished  redoubt, 

20  and  behind  the  grassy  rampart,  where  New  England  hus- 
bandmen, so  often  taunted  with  cowardice,  beheld  veteran 
battalions  shrink  before  their  arms.  Their  hearts  bounded 
as  they  congratulated  each  other.  The  night-watches, 
thirst,  hunger,  danger,  whether  of  captivity  or  death,  were 

25  forgotten.     They  promised  themselves  victory. 

As  the  British  soldiers  retreated,  the  officers  were  seen  by 
the  spectators  on  the  opposite  shore,  running  down  to  them, 
using  passionate  gestures,  and  pushing  them  forward  with 
their  swords.     After  an  interval  of  about  fifteen  minutes, 

30  during  which  Prescott  moved  round  among  his  men,  encour- 
aging them  and  cheering  them  with  praise,  the  British 
column  under  Pigot  rallied  and  advanced,  though  with 
apparent  reluctance,  in  the  same  order  as  before,  firing  as 
they  approached  within  musket  shot.     This  time  the  Amer- 

35  icans  withheld  their  fire  till  the  enemy  were  within  six 
*  A  small  stream  entering  into  Boston  Harbor  near  Bunker  HUl. 


hillaed's  sixth  eeader.  175 

or  five  rods  of  the  redoubt,  when,  as  the  order  was  given, 
it  seemed  more  fatal  than  before.  The  enemy  continued 
to  discharge  their  guns,  and  pressed  forward  with  spirit. 
"  But  from  the  whole  American  line,  there  was,"  said  Pres- 
6  cott,  "  a  continuous  stream  of  fire,"  and  though  the  British 
officers  were  seen  exposing  themselves  fearlessly,  remon- 
strating, threatening,  and  even  striking  the  soldiers  to  urge 
them  on,  they  could  not  reach  the  redoubt,  but  in  a  few 
moments  gave  way  in  greater  disorder  than  before.     The 

10  wounded  and  the  dead  covered  the  ground  in  front  of  the 
works,  some  lying  within  a  few  yards  of  them. 

On  the  flank,  also,  the  British  light  infantry  again 
marched  up  its  companies  against  the  grass  fence,  but  could 
not  penetrate  it.     "  Indeed,"  wrote  some  of  the  survivors, 

15  '->  how  could  we  penetrate  it?  Most  of  our  grenadiers  and 
light  infantry,  the  moment  of  presenting  themselves,  lost 
three  fourths,  and  many,  nine  tenths  of  their  men.  Some 
had  only  eight  or  nine  men  in  a  company  left,  some  only 
three,  four,  or  five."     On  the  ground  where  but  the  day 

20  before  the  mowers  had  swung  the  scythe  in  peace,  "  the 
dead,"  relates  Stark,  "lay  as  thick  as  sheep  in  a  fold." 
Howe,  for  a  few  seconds,  was  left  nearly  alone,  so  many  of 
the  officers  about  him  having  been  killed  or  wounded ;  and 
it  required  the  utmost  exertion  of  all,  from  the  generals 

25  down  to  the  subalterns,  to  repair  the  rout. 

At  intervals  the  artillery  from  the  ships  and  batteries 
was  playing,  while  the  flames  were  rising  over  the  town  of 
Charlestown,  and  laying  waste  the  places  of  the  sepulchres 
of  its  fathers,  and  streets  were  falling  together,  and  ships 

30  at  the  yards  were  crashing  on  the  stocks,  and  the  kindred 
of  the  Americans,  from  the  fields  and  hills  around,  watched 
every  gallant  act  of  their  defenders.  "The  whole,"  wrote 
Burgoyne,  "was  a  complication  of  horror  and  importance 
beyond  anything  it  ever  came  to  my  lot  to  be  witness 

35  to.  It  was  a  sight  for  a  young  soldier,  that  the  longest 
service  may  not  furnish  again." 


176  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

"  If  we  drive  tliein  back  once  more,"  cried  Prescott,' 
"  they  cannot  rally  again."  To  the  enduring  hushandmen 
about  him,  the  terrible  and  appalling  scene  was  altogether 
new.  "  We  are  ready  for  the  red-coats  again,"  they  shouted, 
5  cheering  their  commander,  and  not  one  of  them  shrunk 
from  duty. 


LV.— WAEREN'S  ADDRESS  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE 
OF  BUNKER  HILL. 

PlEKPONT. 

1  Stand  !  the  ground 's  your  own,  my  braves  I 
Will  ye  give  it  up  to  slaves  ? 

Will  ye  hope  for  greener  graves  ? 

Hope  ye  mercy  still  ? 
What's  the  mercy  despots  feel ! 
Hear  it  in  that  battle  peal ! 
Read  it  on  yon  bristling  steel ! 

Ask  it —  ye  who  will. 

2  Fear  ye  foes  who  kill  for  hire  ? 
Will  ye  to  your  homes  retire  ? 
Look  behind  you !  they  're  afire ! 

And,  before  you,  see 
W^ho  have  done  it !  —  From  the  vale 
On  they  come  !  —  and  will  ye  quail? 
Leaden  rain  and  iron  hail 

Let  their  welcome  be ! 

3  In  the  God  of  battles  trust ! 
Die  we  may  —  and  die  we  must : 
But,  O,  where  can  dust  to  dust 

Be  consigned  so  well, 
As  where  heaven  its  dews  shall  shed 
On  the  martyred  patriot's  bed. 
And  the  rocks  shall  raise  their  head 

Of  his  deeds  to  tell  I 


hillaed's  sixth  eeadek7  177' 


LYL~GINEYEA. 

Rogers. 

[Samuel  Rogers  was  born  at  Newington  Green,  near  London,  July  30, 
1763,  and  died  December  18,  1855.  In  1792,  he  published  his  "  Pleasures  of 
Memory,"  a  poem  which  gave  him  an  honorable  and  enduring  place  among 
the  poets  of  his  country.  His  subsequent  productions,  which  are  not  very 
numerous,  cannot  be  said  to  have  added  materially  to  his  reputation.  His 
poetry  is  marked  by  the  careful  finish  and  grace  of  patient  elaboration. 

The  following  extract  is  from  "  Italy,"  a  poem  published  in  1822,  consisting 
of  sketches  of  Italian  scenery,  manners,  and  history.  Modena  is  a  town  in  the 
northern  part  of  Italy.  Here  is  kept  an  old  worm-eaten  bucket,  said  to  have 
been  taken  from  the  Bolognese  by  the  Modenese,  in  a  fight  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  This  trophy  forms  the  subject  of  a  mock-heroic  poem,  called  "  The 
Rape  of  the  Bucket,"  by  Tassoni,  an  Italian  poet  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
Zampieri  was  a  celebrated  painter  of  Bologna,  (Bo-lon'yii,)  more  generally 
known  by  his  first  name,  Domenichino,  (D9-ma-ne-ke'-no,)  or  Domenico, 
(D9-mri'ne-co).J 

1  If  ever  you  should  eome  to  Modena,'-* 
(Where  among  other  relics  you  may  see 
Tassoni's  bucket  —  but  't  is  not  the  true  one,) 
Stop  at  a  palace  near  the  Eeggio-gate, 
Dwelt  in  of  old  by  one  of  the  Donati. 

Its  noble  gardens,  terrace  above  terrace. 
And  rich  in  fountains,  statues,  cypresses. 
Will  long  detain  you  —  but,  before  you  go, 
Enter  the  house,  —  forgot  it  not,  I  pray  you, 
And  look  awhile  upon  a  picture  there. 

2  'T  is  of  a  lady  in  her  earliest  youth, 
The  last  of  that  illustrious  family  ; 

Done  by  Zampieri  f  —  but  by  whom  I  care  not. 
He,  who  observes  it,  ere  he  passes  on. 
Gazes  his  fill,  and  comes  and  comes  again. 
That  he  may  call  it  up  when  far  away. 

3  She  sits,  inclining  forward  as  to  speak. 
Her  lips  half  open,  and  her  finger  up, 

As  though  she  said,  **  Beware !  "  her  vest  of  gold 
Broidered  with  flowers  and  clasped  from  head  to  foot, 

*Mo'de-nii.  f  I^^am-pe-a'r?. 


178 


An  emerald  stone  in  every  golden  clasp ; 
And  on  her  brow,  fairer  than  alabaster, 
A  coronet  of  pearls. 

4  But  then  her  face, 

So  lovely,  yet  so  arch,  so  full  of  mirth. 

The  overflowings  of  an  innocent  heart — 

It  haunts  me  still,  though  many  a  year  has  fled, 

Like  some  wild  melody  ! 

6  Alone  it  hangs 

Over  a  mouldering  heirloom,  its  companion, 
An  oaken  chest,  half-eaten  by  the  worm, 
But  richly  carved  by  Antony  of  Trent  '•' 
With  Scripture  stories  from  the  life  of  Christ, 
A  chest  that  came  from  Venice,  and  had  held 
The  ducal  robes  of  some  old  ancestors  — 
That  by  the  way  —  it  may  be  true  or  false  — 
But  don't  forget  the  picture  ;  and  you  will  not. 
When  you  have  heard  the  tale  they  told  me  there. 

6  She  was  an  only  child — her  name  Ginevra, 
The  joy,  the  pride, of  an  indulgent  father ; 
And  in  her  fifteenth  year  became  a  bride, 
Marrying  an  only  son,  Trancesco  Doria, 

Her  playmate  from  her  birth,  and  her  first  love. 

7  Just  as  she  looks  there  in  her  bridal  dress. 
She  was  all  gentleness,  all  gayety, 

Her  pranks  the  favorite  theme  of  every  tongue. 
But  now  the  day  was  come  —  the  day,  the  hour; 
Now,  frowning,  smiling  for  the  hundredth  time, 
The  nurse,  that  ancient  lady,  preached  decorum  ; 
And,  in  the  lustre  of  her  youth,  she  gave 
Her  hand,  with  her  heart  in  it,  to  Francesco. 

♦Antonio  da  Trento,  a  celebrated  wood  engraver,  was  born  at  Trent, : 
Venetian  States,  about  1508. 


hillard's  sixth  keader.  179 

8  Great  was  the  joy  ;  but  at  the  nuptial  feast, 
When  all  sate  down,  the  bride  herself  was  wanting, 
Nor  was  she  to  be  found !     Her  father  cried, 

"  'T  is  but  to  make  a  trial  of  our  love  ! " 
And  filled  his  glass  to  all ;  but  his  hand  shook, 
And  soon  from  guest  to  guest  the  panic  spread. 
'T  was  but  that  instant  she  had  left  Francesco, 
Laughing  and  looking  back,  and  flying  still, 
Her  ivory  tooth  imprinted  on  his  finger. 
But  now,  alas !  she  was  not  to  be  found  ; 
Nor  from  that  hour  could  anything  be  guessed 
But  that  she  was  not ! 

9  Weary  of  his  life, 
Francesco  flew  to  Venice,  and,  embarking, 
Flung  it  away  in  battle  with  the  Turk. 
Donati  lived  —  and  long  might  you  have  seen 
An  old  man  wandering  as  in  quest  of  something. 
Something  he  could  not  find  —  he  knew  not  what. 
When  he  was  gone,  the  house  remained  awhile 
Silent  and  tenantless  —  then  went  to  strangers. 

10         Full  fifty  years  were  past,  and  all  forgotten. 
When  on  an  idle  day,  a  day  of  search 
'Mid  the  old  lumber  in  the  gallery. 
That  mouldering  chest  was  noticed  ;  and  't  was  said 
By  one  as  young,  as  thoughtless  as  Ginevra, 
"  Why  not  remove  it  from  its  lurking-place  ?  " 
'T  was  done  as  soon  as  said  ;  but  on  the  way 
It  burst  —  it  fell  —  and  lo !  a  skeleton. 
With  here  and  there  a  pearl,  an  emerald-stone, 
A  golden  clasp  clasping  a  shred  of  gold. 
All  else  had  perished  —  save  a  wedding-ring. 
And  a  small  seal,  her  mother's  legacy. 
Engraven  with  a  name,  — the  name  of  both,  — 
"  Ginevra." 


180  hillaed's  sixth  reader.' 

11  —  There  then  had  she  found  a  grave  ! 

Within  that  chest  had  she  concealed  herself, 
Fluttering  with  joy,  the  happiest  of  the  happy ; 
When  a  spring-lock,  that  lay  in  ambush  there, 
Fastened  her  down  forever ! 


LVII  — THE  WESTEEN  POSTS. 

Ames. 

[Fisher  Ames  was  born  in  Dedham,  Massachusetts,  April  9, 1758,  and  died 
in  the  same  place  July  4,  1808.  When  the  federal  government  went  into  oper- 
ation, he  was  elected  the  first  representative  of  his  district  in  Congress,  and 
retained  his  seat  through  the  whole  of  the  administration  of  Washington,  of 
whose  policy  and  measures  he  was  an  ardent  supporter.  He  was  a  very  elo- 
quent man,  remarkable  alike  for  his  readiness  in  debate  and  the  finished  beauty 
of  his  prepared  speeches.  He  was  a  copious  writer  upon  politic.nl  subj(!cts, 
and  his  essays  are  remarkable  for  vigor  of  thought  and  brilliant  and  animated 
style.  In  private  life  Mr.  Ames  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  delightful 
of  men,  and  possessed  of  rare  conversational  powers. 

The  speech  from  which  the  following  extract  is  taken  was  delivered  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  April  28,  17%,  in  support  of  a  resolution  in  favor  of 
passing  the  laws  necessary  for  carrying  into  effect  a  treaty  recently  negotiated 
with  Great  Britain  by  Mr.  Jay.  By  this  treaty,  Great  Britain  agreed  to  sur- 
render certain  posts  on  the  western  frontier,  which  she  still  held.  Mr.  Ames 
argued  that  the  possession  of  these  posts  was  essential  for  the  preservation  of 
the  western  settlers  against  the  Indians.] 

If  any,  against  all  these  proofs,  should  maintain,  that 
the  peace  with  the  Indians  will  be  stable  without  the  posts, 
to  them  I  will  urge  another  reply.     From  arguments  cal- 
culated to  produce  conviction,  I  will  appeal  directly  to  the 
5   hearts  of  those  who  hear  me,  and  ask  whether  it  is  not 
already  planted  there  ?     I  resort  especially  to  the  convic- 
tions of  the  western  gentlemen,  whether,   supposing  no 
posts  and  no  treaty,  the  settlers  will  remain  in  security  ? 
Can  they  take  it  upon  them  to  say,  that  an  Indian  peace, 
10  under  these  circumstances,  will  prove  firm?     No,  sir,  it 
will  not  be  peace,  but  a  sword  ;  it  will  be  no  better  than 
a  lure  to  draw  victims  within  the  reach  of  the  tomahawk. 
On  this  theme  my  emotions  are  unutterable.    If  I  could 


hillaed's  sixth  eeadek.  181 

find  words  for  them,  if  my  powers  bore  any  proportion  to 
my  zeal,  I  would  swell  my  voice  to  such  a  note  of  remon- 
strance it  should  reach  every  log-house  beyond  the  moun- 
tains. I  would  say  to  the  inhabitants,  wake  from  your  false 
5  security ;  your  cruel  dangers,  your  more  cruel  apprehen- 
sions are  soon  to  be  renewed ;  the  wounds,  yet  unhealed,  are 
to  be  torn  open  again  ;  in  the  daytime,  your  path  through 
the  woods  will  be  ambushed ;  the  darkness  of  midnight 
will  glitter  with  the  blaze  of  your  dwellings.     You  are  a 

10  father  —  the  blood  of  your  sons  shall  fatten  your  cornfield. 
You  are  a  mother —  the  war-whoop  shall  wake  the  sleep  of 
the  cradle. 

On  this  subject  you  need  not  suspect  any  deception  on 
your  feelings ;  it  is  a  spectacle  of  horror  which  cannot  be 

15  overdrawn.  If  you  have  nature  in  your  hearts,  they  will 
speak  a  language,  compared  with  which  all  I  have  said  or 
can  say  will  be  poor  and  frigid. 

Will  it  be  whispered  that  the  treaty  has  made  me  a  new 
champion  for  the  protection  of  the  frontiers  ?  It  is  known 

20  that  my  voice,  as  well  as  vote,  have  been  uniformly  given 
in  conformity  with  the  ideas  I  have  expressed.  Protection 
is  the  right  of  the  frontiers;  it  is  our  duty  to  give  it. 

Who  will  accuse  me  of  wandering  out  of  the  subject? 
Who  will  say  that  I  exaggerate  the  tendencies  of  our  meas- 

25  ures  ?  Will  any  one  answer  by  a  sneer  that  this  is  all  idle 
preaching  ?  Will  any  one  deny  that  we  are  bound,  and 
I  would  hope  to  good  purpose,  by  the  most  solemn  sanctions 
of  duty,  for  the  vote  we  give  ?  Are  despots  alone  to  be 
reproached  for  unfeeling  indifierence  to  the  tears  and  blood 

30  of  their  subjects?  Are  republicans  irresponsible?  Have 
the  principles  on  which  you  ground  the  reproach  upon 
cabinets  and  kings,  no  practical  influence,  no  binding 
force  ?  Are  they  merely  themes  of  idle  declamation,  in- 
troduced to  decorate  the  morality  of  a  newspaper  essay,  or 

35  to  furnish  pretty  topics  of  harangue  from  the  windows  of 
that  State  House  ?     I  trust  it  is  neither  too  presumptuous 
16 


182  hillard's  sixth  reader, 

nor  too  late  to  ask,  Can  you  put  the  dearest  interest  of 
society  at  risk,  without  guilt,  and  without  remorse? 

It  is  vain  to  offer  as  an. excuse  that  public  men  are  not 
to  be  reproached  for  the  evils  that  may  happen  to  ensue 
5  from  their  measures.  This  is  very  true,  where  they  are 
unforeseen  or  inevitable.  Those  I  have  depicted  are  not 
unforeseen ;  they  are  so  far  from  inevitable,  we  are  going 
to  bring  them  into  being  by  our  vote  ;  we  choose  the  con- 
sequences, and  become  as  justly  answerable  for  them  as 

10  for  the  measure  that  we  know  will  produce  them. 

By  rejecting  the  posts,  we  light  the  savage  fires,  we  bind 
the  victims.  This  day  we  undertake  to  render  an  account 
to  the  widows  and  orphans  whom  our  decision  will  make ; 
to  the  wretches  that  will  be  roasted  at  the  stake ;  to  our 

15  country ;  and  I  do  not  deem  it  too  serious  to  say,  to  con- 
science and  to  God.  We  are  answerable ;  and  if  duty  be 
anything  more  than  a  word  of  imposture,  if  conscience  be 
not  a  bugbear,  we  are  preparing  to  make  ourselves  as 
wretched  as  our  country. 

20  There  is  no  mistake  in  this  case,  there  can  be  none; 
experience  has  already  been  the  prophet  of  events,  and  the 
cries  of  our  future  victims  have  already  reached  us.  The 
western  inhabitants  are  not  a  silent  and  uncomplaining 
sacrifice.     The  voice  of  humanity  issues  from  the  shade  of 

25  the  wilderness ;  it  exclaims,  that  while  one  hand  is  held 
up  to  reject  this  treaty,  the  other  grasps  a  tomahawk.  It 
summons  our  imagination  to  the  scenes  that  will  open.  It 
is  no  great  effort  of  the  imagination  to  conceive  that  events 
so  near  are  already  begun.     I  can  fancy  that  I  listen  to 

30  the  yells  of  savage  vengeance  and  the  shrieks  of  torture  ; 
already  they  seem  to  sigh  in  the  western  wind ;  already 
they  mingle  with  every  echo  from  the  mountains. 


183 


LVIII  — OVEE   THE   EIVEE. 

Miss  Priest. 
Over  the  river  they  beckon  to  me  — 

Loved  ones  wlio  've  crossed  to  the  further  side ; 
The  gleam  of  their  snowy  robes  I  see, 

But  their  voices  are  drowned  in  the  rushing  tide. 
There  's  one  with  ringlets  of  sunny  gold, 

And. eyes,  the  reflection  of  heaven's  own  blue; 
He  crossed  in  the  twilight,  gray  and  cold, 

And  the  pale  mist  hid  him  from  mortal  view. 
We  saw  not  the  angels  who  met  him  there ; 

The  gates  of  the  city  we  could  not  see ; 
Over  the  river,  over  the  river. 

My  brother  stands  waiting  to  welcome  me  ! 

Over  the  rivisr,  the  boatman  pale 

Carried  another  —  the  household  pet ; 
Her  brown  curls  waved  in  the  gentle  gale  — 

Darling  Minnie  !    I  see  her  yet. 
She  crossed  on  her  bosom  her  dimpled  hands, 

And  fearlessly  entered  the  phantom  bark ; 
We  watched  it  glide  from  the  silver  sands, 

And  all  our  sunshine  grew  strangely  dark. 
We  know  she  is  safe  on  the  further  side. 

Where  all  the  ransomed  and  angels  be ; 
Over  the  river,  the  mystic  river, 

My  childhood's  idol  is  waiting  for  me. 

Eor  none  return  from  those  quiet  shores. 
Who  cross  with  the  boatman  cold  and  pale ; 

We  hear  the  dip  of  the  golden  oars. 

And  catch  a  gleam  of  the  snowy  sail,  — 

And  lo  !  they  have  passed  from  our  yearning  heart ; 
They  cross  the  stream,  and  are  gone  for  aye ; 


184  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

We  may  not  sunder  the  veil  apart 

That  hides  from  our  vision  the  gates  of  day ; 

We  only  know  that  their  bark  no  more 
May  sail  with  us  o'er  life's  stormy  sea ; 

Yet  somewhere.  I  know,  on  the  unseen  shore, 
They  watch,  and  beckon,  and  wait  for  me. 

4     And  I  sit  and  think,  when  the  sunset's  gold 

Is  flushing  river,  and  hill,  and  shore, 
I  shall  one  day  stand  by  the  water  cold, 

And  list  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman's  oar ; 
I  shall  watch  for  a  gleam  of  the  flapping  sail ; 

I  shall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  strand ; 
I  shall  pass  from  sight,  with  the  boatman  pale, 

To  the  better  shore  of  the  spirit-land ; 
I  shall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before,'    j- 

And  joyfully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be, 
When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river. 

The  Angel  of  Death  shall  carry  me. 


LIX.  — TEUE   H0NESTY. 

FOLLEN. 

[Chakles  Follen  was  born  at  Romrod,  in  Hesse-Darmstadt,  Germany, 
September  4,  1796,  emigrated  to  this  country  in  1824,  on  account  of  the  danger 
to  which  he  was  exposed  from  his  liberal  opinions,  and  died  in  January,  1840,  a 
victim  of  that  fearful  tragedy,— the  burning  of  the  steamboat  Lexington,  in  Long 
Island  Sound.  At  the  time  of  his  death,  he  was  pastor  of  a  church  in  East  Lex- 
ington, Massachusetts,  and  he  had  previously  been  for  some  years  Professor 
of  the  Language  and  Literature  of  Germany  in  the  University  at  Cambridge. 

He  was  a  man  of  admirable  qualities  of  mind  and  character.  His  courage 
was  of  the  highest  temper,  and  graced  by  Christian  gentleness  and  forbear- 
ance. He  had  a  generous  and  wide-embracing  philanthropy,  and  yet  was 
never  neglectful  of  the  daily  charities  and  kindnesses  of  life.  The  duties  of 
his  sacred  calling  he  discharged  with  great  fidelity.  His  sermons  were  of  a 
high  order,  and  his  devotional  exercises  were  most  fervid  and  impressive. 

Dr.  Follen  had  also  an  excellent  understanding  and  a  thorough  cultivation. 
While  in  Germany  he  had  been  a  teacher  of  jurisprudence,  and  his  lectures  had 
attracted  much  attention.    He  had  a  taste  and  a  capacity  for  metaphysical  and 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  185 

psychological  investigations,  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  had  made  some  prog- 
ress in  a  work  on  the  nature  and  functions  of  the  soul.  His  English  style  is 
very  remarkable.  Not  only  is  there  no  trace  of  foreign  idiom  in  it,  but  his 
writings  might  be  put  into  the  hands  of  students  of  our  language  as  models  of 
accuracy,  neatness,  and  precision. 

Dr.  Follen's  works  were  published,  after  his  death,  by  his  widow,  in  five 
volumes :  the  first  volume  containing  a  memoir.  They  consist  of  sermons, 
lectures,  and  occasional  discourses.  The  following  extract  is  taken  from  one 
of  his  sermons.] 

Honesty  is  often  recommended  to  those  wlio  seem  more 
especially  to  need  the  recommendation,  by  the  common 
saying  that  "  honesty  is  the  best  policy."  This  maxim  is 
to  a  certain  extent  true,  and  borne  out  by  experience. 
5  The  dishonest  man  is  continually  undermining  his  own 
credit ;  and  not  only  is  credit  the  first  requisite  for  ob- 
taining the  conveniences  of  life  which  can  be  bought  or 
hired,  but  all  our  social  blessings,  arising  from  the  confi- 
dence, esteem,  and  love  of  our  fellow-men,  depend  essen- 

10  tially  on  good  faith.  Our  conscience  and  our  reason  fully 
approve  of  a  state  of  things  that  should  secure  the  enjoy- 
ment of  property,  of  confidence,  esteem,  and  afiection,  to 
him  who  alone  deserves  them. 

So  far,  then,  the  common  saying,  that  honesty  is  the 

15  best  —  that  is,  the  most  profitable  —  policy,  has  a  good 
foundation,  both  in  experience  and  in  sound  reason.  But, 
like  all  the  other  current  doctrines  of  expediency  which 
commend  virtue  not  for  its  own  sake,  —  that  is,  on  account 
of  the  happiness  which  is  found  in  the  exercise  of  virtue, 

20  —  that  common  saying,  too,  which  makes  honesty  an  instru- 
ment of  policy,  is  untrue  and  mischievous  in  some  of  its 
most  important  bearings  and  consequences. 

In  the  first  place,  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  consid- 
ering honesty  the  most  profitable  line  of  conduct,  are  apt 

25  to  look  upon  virtue,  in  general,  as  a  matter  of  policy  —  to 
value  it  solely  or  chiefly  in  proportion  to  the  price  it  will 
bring  in  the  market.  This  habit  of  calculating  the  inter- 
est of  virtue  undermines  the  moral  sensibility,  and,  by  de- 
grees, unfits  the  selfish  calculator  for  that  deep  satisfac- 
IG* 


186  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

tion,  arising  from  the  simple  consciousness  of  rectitude, 
which  the  truly  honest  man  does  not  hesitate  to  purchase 
with  the  loss  of  all  the  advantages  which  the  most  success- 
ful policy  could  have  secured. 
5  But  besides  the  immoral  tendency  of  this  economical 
view  of  virtue,  it  is  not  consistent  with  facts,  with  expe- 
rience, that  honesty  is  always  the  best,  the  most  successful, 
policy.  He  is  not  always  the  most  successful  merchant 
who  in  no  instance  deviates  from  the  strict  principles  of 

10  honesty ;  but  rather  he  whose  general  way  of  doing  busi- 
ness is  so  fair  and  equitable,  that  he  can,  without  much 
danger,  avail  himself  of  some  favorable  opportunity  to 
make  his  fortune  by  a  mode  of  proceeding  which  would 
have  ruined  his  credit  if  he  had  been  so  impolitic  as  to 

15  make  this  successful  deviation  from  duty  the  general  line 
of  his  conduct. 

Again,  he  is  not  always  the  most  prosperous  lawyer  who 
never  undertakes  the  defence  of  a  cause  which  his  con- 
science condemns ;  but  rather  he  who  never  undertakes  a 

20  cause  so  palpably  unjust  that  it  cannot  be  gained  even  by 
the  most  skilful  and  artful  management ;  while  the  power 
of  making  a  bad  cause  appear  good,  when  discreetly  em- 
ployed, is  apt  to  enhance,  rather  than  degrade,  his  profes- 
sional character. 

25  Again,  he  is  not  always  the  most  influential  politician 
who  never  deviates  from  the  straight  path  of  political  jus- 
tice ;  but  rather  he  who  goes  upon  the  common  principle 
that  **  all  is  fair  in  politics,"  provided  he  does  not  become 
guilty  of  any  such  dishonesty  as  will  not  be  pardoned  by 

30  his  own  party. 

In  the  same  way,  he  is  not  apt  to  be  the ,  most  popular 
divine,  who,  regardless  both  of  the  praise  and  of  the  cen- 
sure of  men,  declares  the  whole  counsel  of  God,  as  it 
stands  revealed  to  his  own  mind ;  but  rather  he  who  re- 

35  gards  the  signs  of  the  times  as  much  as  the  handwriting 
of  Grod,  modifying  the  plain  honesty  of  apostolic  preaching 


hillaed's  sixth  keader.  187 

with  a  politic  regard  to  the  likes  and  dislikes,  the  passions 
and  prejudices,  of  men. 

I  believe,  then,  that  experience  does  not  verify  the  com- 
mon saying,  that  honesty  is  the  best  —  that  is,  the  most 
5  profitable  —  policy.  It  is  so  in  most  cases,  but  not  in  all. 
Hence  those  who  recommend  honesty  on  the  ground  of  its 
being  the  best  policy,  advise  men  to  act  from  a  motive 
■which,  in  some,  perhaps  the  most  important  cases,  may 
lead  them  into  dishonesty.     Steal  no  more  !     Cease  to  do 

10  evil !  Learn  to  do  well !  These  are  the  simple  precepts 
addressed  to  the  consciences  of  men,  without  leaving  it  to 
their  discretion  to  decide  in  what  cases  they  may  do  evil, 
if  in  all  others  they  do  well. 

If  you  compare  this  simple  doctrine  of  Scripture  and  of 

15  conscience,  which  enjoins  honesty  because  of  its  intrinsic 
excellence,  with  the  doctrine  of  worldly  wisdom,  which 
recommends  honesty  as  the  most  profitable  policy,  and  if 
you  put  both  maxims  to  the  test  of  experience,  you  will 
know  by  their  fruits  which  is  of  God  and  which  of  man. 

20  In  those  cases  where  honesty  is  in  part  the  worst  policy, 
the  man  who  is  virtuous  for  virtue's  sake  will  choose  to 
endure  all  the  evils  connected  with  the  performance  of 
duty,  rather  than  the  simple  consciousness  of  guilt ;  while 
in  all  those  cases  in  which  honesty  turns  out  to  be  the  best 

25  policy,  the  joy  of  acting  right,  without  regard  to  the  con- 
sequences, exceeds  every  other  reward. 


LX.  —  PAUL    fiEVERE'S    EIDE. 

Longfellow. 
Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 
Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Eevere, 
On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-Eive : 
Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 
Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 


188  iiillard's  sixth  reader. 

2  He  said  to  his  friend,  —  "If  the  British  inarch 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 

Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry-arch 

Of  the  North-Church  tower,  as  a  signal-light,  — 

One  if  by  land,  and  two  if  by  sea  ; 

And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 

Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 

Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 

For  the  country-folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

%      ^      -^ 

3  Then  he  said^ood-night,  and  with  muffled  oar 
Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore. 
Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay. 

Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 

The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war: 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon,  like  a  prison-bar, 

And  a  huge,  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

4  Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears. 

Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack-door, 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers, 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

5  Then  he  climbed  to  the  tower  of  the  church. 
Up  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 
To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead, 

And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 
On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 
Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade,  — 
Up  the  light  ladder,  slender  and  tall, 
To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall. 


.    iil  .    |(  HILLAPtD'S    SIXTH    READER.  189 

Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 
A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town, 
And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  alL 

6  Beneath,  in  the  church-yard,  lay  the  dead 
In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill, 
Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still, 
That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread, 
The  watchful  night- wind,  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 
And  seeming  to  whisper,  "  All  is  well !  " 
A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 
Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  the  secret  dread 
Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead  ; 
For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 
On  a  shadowy  something  far  away. 
Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay,  — 
A  line  of  black,  that  bends  and  floats 
On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

7  Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride, 
On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Eevere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side. 
Now  gazed  on  the  landscape  far  and  near, 
Then  impetuous  stamped  the  earth. 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth ; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry-tower  of  the  old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 
Lonely,  and  spectral,  and  sombre,  and  still. 

8  And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height, 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  tLo  belfry  burns ! 


190  itillakd's  nxTTi  r.::Ai;r.R. 

9     A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village-street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And  beneath  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 

Struck  out  by  a  steed  that  flies  fearless  and  fleet : 

That  was  all !    And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the  light. 

The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 

And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight, 

Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

10  It  was  twelve  by  the  village-clock, 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 
He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 
And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog. 
And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river-fog. 
That  rises  when  the  sun  goes  down. 

11  It  was  one  by  the  village-clock. 
When  he  rode  into  Lexington. 
He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 
Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed. 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

12  It  was  two  by  the  village-clock, 

When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 
He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 
And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 
And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning-breeze 
Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 
And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 
Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 
Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 
Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 


191 


13  You  know  the  rest.     In  the  "books  you  have  read 
How  the  British  regulars  fired  and  fled,  — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 

From  behind  each  fence  and  farmyard-wall, 
Chasing  the  red-coats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

14  So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Eevere  ; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm,  — 

A  cry  of  defiance,  and  not  of  fear,  — 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  for  evermore  ! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 

Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last. 

In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beat  of  that  steed, 

And  the  midnight-message  of  Paul  Eevere. 


LXI.  —  WASHmaTON  AT  MOUNT  VEKNON. 

Irving, 

[This  sketch  of  "Washing-ton's  manner  of  life,  from  the  close  of  the  old 
French  war  to  the  beginning  of  the  revolution,  is  from  the  first  volume  of 
Irving's  "  Life  of  Washington."] 

Mount  Vernon  was  beautifully  situated  on  a  swelling 

lieight,  crowned  with  wood,  and  commanding  a  magnificent 

JC^view  up  and  down  the  Potomac.     The  grounds  immedi- 

\^)ately  about  it  were  laid  out  somewhat  in  the  English 

5  taste.     The  estate  was  apportioned  into  separate  farms, 

devoted  to  different  kinds  of  culture,  each  having  its  allot- 


192  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

ted  laborers ;  much,  however,  was  still  covered  with  wild 
woods,  seamed  with  deep  dells  and  runs  of  water,  and  in- 
dented with  inlets  —  haunts  of  deer  and  lurking-places  of 
foxes.  The  whole  woody  region  along  the  Potomac  from 
5  Mount  Vernon  to  Belvoir,  and  far  beyond,  with  its  range 
of  forests,  and  hills,  and  picturesque  promontories,  afforded 
sport  of  various  kinds,  and  was  a  noble  hunting-ground. 
Washington  had  hunted  through  it  with  old  Lord  Fairfax 
in  his  stripling  days ;  we  do  not  wonder  that  his  feelings 

10  throughout  life  incessantly  reverted  to  it. 

"  No  estate  in  United  America,"  observes  he  in  one  of 
his  letters,  "is  more  pleasantly  situated  —  in  a  high  and 
healthy  country ;  in  a  latitude  between  the  extremes  of 
heat  and  cold  ;  on  one  of  the  finest  rivers  in  the  world,  a 

15  river  well  stocked  with  various  kinds  of  fish  at  all  seasons 
of  the  year,  and  in  the  spring  with  shad,  herring,  bass, 
carp,  sturgeon,  &c.,  in  great  abundance.  The  borders  of 
the  estate  are  washed  by  more  than  ten  miles  of  tide- 
water ;  several  valuable  fisheries  appertain  to  it ;  the  whole 

20  shore,  in  fact,  is  one  entire  fishery." 

These  were  as  yet  the  aristocratical  days  of  Virginia. 
The  estates  were  large,  and  continued  in  the  same  families 
by  entail.  Many  of  the  wealthy  planters  were  connected 
with  old  families  in  England.     The  young  men,  especially 

25  the  elder  sons,  were  often  sent  to  finish  their  education 
there,  and  on  their  return  brought  out  the  tastes  and 
habits  of  the  mother  country.  The  governors  of  Vir- 
ginia were  from  the  higher  ranks  of  society,  and  main- 
tained  a   corresponding   state.      The    "established"    or 

30  Episcopal  church  predominated  throughout  the  "ancient 
dominion,"  as  it  was  termed ;  each  county  was  divided 
into  parishes,  as  in  England  —  each  with  its  parochial 
church,  its  parsonage,  and  glebe. 

A  style  of  living  prevailed  among  the  opulent  Virginia 

35  families  in  those  days  that  has  long  since  faded  away. 
The  houses  were  spacious,  commodious,  liberal  in  all  their 


IIILLAr.D'S    SIXTH    HEADER.  193 

appointments,  and  fitted  to  cope  with  tlie  free-handed, 
open-hearted  hospitality  of  the  owners.  Nothing  was 
more  common  than  to  sec  handsome  services  of  plate,  ele- 
gant equipages,  and  superb  carriage  horses —  all  imported 
5  from  England. 

The  Virginia  planters  were  prone  to  leave  the  care  of 
their  estates  too  much  to  their  overseers,  and  to  think 
personal  labor  a  degradation.  Washington  carried  into 
his  rural  afi'airs  the  same  method,  activity,  and  circum- 

10  spection  that  had  distinguished  him  in  military  life.  He 
kept  his  own  accounts,  posted  up  his  books,  and  balanced 
them  with  mercantile  exactness.  We  have  examined  them, 
as  well  as  his  diaries  recording  his  daily  occupations,  and 
his  letter-books,  containing  entries  of  shipments  of  tobacco, 

15  and  correspondence  with  his  London  agents.  They  are 
monuments  of  his  business  habits.  The  products  of  his 
estate  also  became  so  noted  for  the  faithfulness,  as  to 
quantity  and  quality,  with  which  they  were  put  up,  that 
it  is  said  any  barrel  of  flour  that  bore  the   brand   of 

20  George  Washington,  Mount  Ycrnon,  was  exempted  from 
the  customary  inspection  in  the  AYest  India  ports.  He 
rose  early,  often  before  daybreak  in  the  winter  when  the 
nights  were  long.  On  such  occasions  he  lighted  his  own 
fire,   and  wrote  or  read  by  candlelight..    He  breakfasted 

25  at  seven  in  summer,  at  eight  in  winter.  Two  small  cups 
of  tea,  and  three  or  four  cakes  of  Indian  meal,  (called 
hoe-cakes,)  formed  his  frugal  repast.  Immediately  after 
breakfast  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  visited  those  parts  of 
the  estate  where  any  work  was  going  on,  seeing  to  every- 

]Q  thing  with  his  own  eyes,  and  often  aiding  with  his  own 
hand. 

Washington  delighted  in  the  chase.     In  the  hunting 
season,  when  he  rode  out  early  in  the  morning  to  visit 
distant  parts  of  the  estate,  he  often  took  some  of  the  dogs 
5  with  him,  for  the  chance  of  starting  a  fox,  which  he  occa- 
sionally did,  though  he  was  not  always  successful  in  kill- 


194  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

ing  hira.  He  was  a  bold  rider  and  an  admirable  horse- 
man, though  he  never  claimed  the  merit  of  being  an  ac- 
complished fox-hunter.  In  the  height  of  the  season,  how- 
ever, he  would  be  out  with  the  fox-hounds  two  or  three 
5  times  a  week,  accompanied  by  his  guests  at  Mount  Ver- 
non, and  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood,  especially 
the  Fairfaxes  of  Belvoir,  of  which  estate  his  friend  George 
William  Fairfax  was  now  the  proprietor.  On  such  occa- 
sions there  would  be  a  hunting  dinner  at  one  or  other  of 

10  those  establishments,  at  which  convivial  repasts  Wash- 
ington is  said  to  have  enjoyed  himself  with  unwonted 
hilarity. 

Occasionally  he  and  Mrs.  Washington  would  pay  a  visit 
to  Annapolis,  at  that  time  the  seat  of  government  of  Mary- 

15  land,  and  partake  of  the  gayeties  which  prevailed  during 
the  session  of  the  legislature.  The  society  of  these  seats 
of  provincial  governments  was  always  polite  and  fashion- 
able, and  more  exclusive  than  in  these  republican  days, 
being,  in  a  manner,  the  outposts  of  the  English  aristoc- 

20  racy,  where  all  places  of  dignity  or  profit  were  secured  for 
younger  sons  and  poor  but  proud  relatives.  During  the 
session  of  the  legislature,  dinners  and  balls  abounded,  and 
there  were  occasional  attempts  at  theatricals.  The  latter 
was  an  amusement  for  which  Washington  always  had  a 

25  relish,  though  he  never  had  an  opportunity  of  gratifying  it 
effectually.  Neither  was  he  disinclined  to  mingle  in  the 
dance  ;  and  we  remember  to  have  heard  venerable  ladies, 
who  had  been  belles  in  his  day,  pride  themselves  on  hav- 
ing had  him  for  a  partner,  though,  they  added,  he  was  apt 

30  to  be  a  ceremonious  and  grave  one. 

In  this  round  of  rural  occupation,  rural  amusement,  and 
social  intercourse,  Washington  passed  several  tranquil 
years,  the  halcyon  season  of  his  life.  His  already  estab- 
lished reputation  drew  many  visitors  to  Mount  Vernon  ; 

35  some  of  his  early  companions  in  arms  were  his  occasional 
guests,  and  his  friendships  and  connections  linked  him 


HILLARD'S   SIXTH  READER.  195 

witli  some  of  the  most  prominent  and  worthy  people  of  the 
country,  who  were  sure  to  be  received  with  cordial  but 
simple  and  unpretending  hospitality.  His  marriage  was 
not  blessed  with  children  ;  but  those  of  Mrs,  Washington 
5  experienced  from  him  parental  care  and  affection,  and  the 
formation  of  their  minds  and  manners  was  one  of  the 
dearest  objects  of  his  attention.  His  domestic  concerns 
and  social  enjoyments,  however,  were  not  permitted  to 
interfere  with  his  public  duties.  He  was  active  by  na- 
10  ture,  and  eminently  a  man  of  business  by  habit.  As  judge 
of  the  county  court,  and  member  of  the  House  of  Bur- 
gesses, he  had  numerous  calls  upon  his  time  and  thoughts, 
and  was  often  drawn  from  home ;  for  whatever  trust  he 
undertook  he  was  sure  to  fulfil  with  scrupulous  exactness. 


LXIL  — THE    ALDEEMAN'S    EUNEEAL. 

SOUTHEY. 

[Robert  Southey  was  born  in  Bristol,  England,  August  12,  1774,  and  died 
March  21, 1843.  For  the  last  forty  years  of  his  life  he  resided  at  Keswick,  in 
the  county  of  Cumberland.  He  was  a  very  voluminous  writer  in  verse  and 
prose,  and  his  works  would  fill  not  less  than  a  hundred  volumes.  His  poetry 
is  characterized  by  a  rich  and  gorgeous  fancy,  great  beauty  in  description,  and 
an  elevated  moral  tone,  but  not  by  high  creative  power.  His  "  Thai  aba"  and 
"  Curse  of  Kehama"  are  splendid  Oriental  visions,  and  his  "Roderick"  is  an 
elaborate  and  well-sustained  work.  Many  of  his  shorter  poems  are  marked  by 
a  happy  vein  of  humor. 

His  prose  style  is  admirable;  pure,  simple,  perspicuous,  and  energetic;  sin- 
gularly well  suited  for  narrative,  and  hardly  less  so  for  reasoning  upon  the 
usual  topics  of  controversy  among  men.  His  best  known  prose  works  are 
"  1  ho  Life  of  Nelson,"  "  The  Life  of  Wesley,"  "  The  History  of  the  Peninsular 
War,"  "  The  History  of  Brazil,"  "  Sir  Thomas  More,  or  Colloquies  on  the 
Progress  and  Prospects  of  Society,"  "  The  Life  of  Cowper,"  and  "  The 
Doctor." 

Southey  was  exclusively  a  man  of  letters,  and  few  men  have  ever  adorned 
that  profession  with  higher  qualities  of  character.  He  was  admirable  in  all 
the  relations  of  life,  full  of  warm  affections,  and  ever  faithful  to  duty.  He  had 
strong'  prejudices,  but  they  were  honestly  entertained.  His  littrary  industry 
was  worthy  of  all  praise.  He  was  a  passionate  lover  of  books,  and  left  behind 
him  a  large  and  valuable  library.  Overworn  by  excessive  mental  toil  and 
domestic  anxiety,  the  light  of  his  mind  faded  away  before  death  released  him; 
and  his  last  years  were  passed  iu  ignorance  alike  of  his  books  and  his  friends.^ 


196  iiillakd's  sixth  reader. 

Stranger.    AMiom  arc  they  ushering  from  the  world, 
with  all 
This  pageantry  and  long  parade  of  death  ? 

Townsman.    A  long  parade,  indeed,  sir,  and  yet  here 
You  see  but  half ;  round  yonder  bend  it  reaches 
6  A  furlong  farther,  carriage  behind  carriage. 

Stran.  'T  is  but  a  mournful  sight,  and  yet  the  pomp 
Tempts  me  to  stand  a  gazer. 

Towns.  Yonder  schoolboy, 

Who  plays  the  truant,  says  the  proclamation 
10  Of  peace  ^  was  nothing  to  the  show,  and  even 
The  chairing  of  the  members  at  election  f 
Would  not  have  been  a  finer  sight  than  this ; 
Only  that  red  and  green  are  prettier  colors 
Than  all  this  mourning.     There,  sir,  you  behold 
15  One  of  the  red-gowned  J  worthies  of  the  city, 
The  envy  and  the  boast  of  our  exchange,  — 
Ay,  what  was  worth,  last  week,  a  good  half  million,  — 
Screwed  down  in  yonder  hearse. 
^  Stran.  Then  he  was  bom 

20  Under  a  lucky  planet,  who  to-day 
Puts  mourning  on  for  his  inheritance. 

Towns.    When  I  first  heard  his  death,  that  very  wish 
Leapt  to  my  lips ;  but  now  the  closing  scene 
Of  the  comedy  hath  wakened  wiser  thoughts ; 
25   And  I  bless  God,  that  when  I  go  to  the  grave. 
There  will  not  be  the  weight  of  wealth  like  his 
To  sink  me  down. 

*  This  poem  was  written  in  1803.  The  allusion  in  the  text  is  to  the  peace  of 
Amiens,  between  England,  France,  Spain,  and  Holland,  which  was  concluded 
in  May,  1802. 

t  In  England,  after  a  contested  parliamentary  election,  the  successful  mem- 
t)ers  are  sometimes  carried  about  in  a  chair  on  the  shoulders  of  their  partisans. 
In  such  elections,  also,  the  voters  on  different  sides  are  sometimes  designated 
by  ribbons  and  badg^es  of  a  peculiar  color. 

+  In  P^ngland,  a  red  gown  is  a  common  official  dress  of  mayors  and  aldermen 
of  cities,  worn  on  important  occasions. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  197 

Stran.  The  camel  and  tlie  needle,  — 

Is  that  then  in  your  mind  ? 

Towns.  Even  so.     The  text 

Is  gospel  wisdom.     I  would  ride  the  camel, 
5  Yea,  leap  him  flying  through  the  needle's  eye, 
A.S  easily  as  such  a  pampered  soul 
Could  pass  the  narrow  gate. 

Stran.  Your  pardon,  sir, 

But  sure  this  lack  of  Christian  charity 
10  Looks  not  like  Christian  truth. 

Towns.  Your  pardon,  too,  sir, 

If,  with  this  text  before  me,  I  should  feel 
In  the  preaching  mood.     But  for  these  barren  fig-trees, 
With  all  their  flourish  and  their  leafiness, 
15  We  have  been  told  their  destiny  and  use. 
When  the  axe  is  laid  unto  the  root,  and  they 
Cumber  the  earth  no  longer. 

Stran.  Was  his  wealth 

20  Stored  fraudfully,  the  spoil  of  orphans  wronged, 
And  widows  who  had  none  to  plead  their  right  ? 

Towns.    All  honest,  open,  honorable  gains. 
Pair  legal  interest,  bonds  and  mortgages, 
Ships  to  the  east  and  west. 

Stran.  Why  judge  you  then 

25  So  hardly  of  the  dead? 

Towns.  For  what  he  left 

Undone ;  —  for  sins,  not  one  of  which  is  mentioned 
In  the  Ten  Commandments.     He,  I  warrant  him. 
Believed  no  other  gods  than  those  of  the  Creed  ; 
30  Bowed  to  no  idols  —  but  his  money-bags ; 

Swore  no  false  oaths  —  except  at  the  custom-house  ; 
Kept  the  Sabbath  —  idle  ;  built  a  monument 
To  honor  his  dead  father  ;  did  no  murder  ; 
Never  picked  pockets  ;  never  bore  false  witness  ; 
35   And  never,  with  that  all-commanding  wealth 
Coveted  his  neighbor's  house,  nor  ox,  nor  ass. 
17* 


198 

Stran.  You  knew  him,  then,  it  seems  ? 

Towns.  As  all  men  know 

The  virtues  of  your  hundred-thousanders : 

They  never  hide  their  lights  beneath  a  bushel. 
5       Stran.    Nay,  nay,  uncharitable  sir  !  for  often 

Doth  bounty,  like  a  streamlet,  flow  unseen. 

Freshening  and  giving  life  along  its  course. 

Towns.    We  track  the  streamlet  by  the  brighter  green 

And  livelier  growth  it  gives :  —  but  as  for  this  — 
10  This  was  a  stagnant  pool  of  waters  foul ; 

The  rains  of  heaven  engendered  nothing  in  it 

But  slime  and  rank  corruption. 

Stran.  Yet  even  these 

Are  reservoirs  whence  public  charity 
15  Still  keeps  her  channels  full. 

Towns.  Now,  sir,  you  touch 

Upon  the  point.     This  man  of  half  a  million 

Had  all  these  public  virtues  which  you  praise, 

But  the  poor  man  never  rung  at  his  door : 
20  And  the  old  beggar,  at  the  public  gate, 

Who,  all  the  summer  long,  stands,  hat  in  hand,  — 

He  knew  how  vain  it  was  to  lift  an  eye 

To  that  hard  face.     Yet  he  was  always  found 

Among  your  ten  and  twenty  pound  subscribers, 
25  Your  beneftictors  in  the  newspapers.  uS 

His  alms  were  money  put  to  interest 

In  the  other  world,  —  donations  to  keep  open 

A  running  charity  account  with  Heaven  ;  — 

Eetaining  fees  against  the  last  assizes, 
30  When,  for  the  trusted  talents,  strict  account 

Shall  be  required  from  all,  and  the  old  arch-lawyer 

Plead  his  own  cause  as  plaintiff. 

Stran.  I  must  needs 

Believe  you,  sir  ;  —  these  are  your  witnesses, 
35  These  mourners  here,  who  from  their  carriages 

Gape  at  the  gaping  crowd.     A  good  March  wind 


X 


htllard's  sixth  reader.  199 

"Were  to  be  prayed  for  now,  to  lend  their  eyes 

Some  decent  rheum.     The  very  hireling  mute  '•' 

Bears  not  a  face  blanker  of  all  emotion 

Than  the  old  servant  of  the  family. 
5  How  can  this  man  have  lived,  that  thus  his  death 

Costs  not  the  soiling  one  white  handkerchief  ? 

Towns.  Who  should  lament  for  him,  sir,  in  whose  heart 

Love  had  no  place,  nor  natural  charity  ? 

The  parlor-spaniel,  when  she  heard  his  step, 
10   Eose  slowly  from  the  hearth,  and  stole  aside 

With  creeping  pace  ;  she  never  raised  her  eyes 

To  woo  kind  words  from  him,  nor  laid  her  head 

Upraised  upon  his  knee,  with  fondling  whine. 

How  could  it  be  but  thus  ?     Arithmetic 
15   Was  the  sole  science  he  was  ever  taught. 

The  multiplication  table  was  his  creed. 

His  pater-noster,  and  his  decalogue. 

When  yet  he  was  a  boy,  and  should  have  breathed 

The  open  air  and  sunshine  of  the  fields, 
20  To  give  his  blood  its  natural  spring  and  play, 

He,  in  a  close  and  dusky  counting-house, 

Smoke-dried,  and  seared,  and  shrivelled  up  his  heart. 

So,  from  the  way  in  which  he  was  trained  up. 

His  feet  departed  not ;  he  toiled  and  moiled, 
25   Poor  muckworm  !  through  his  threescore  years  and  ten ; 

And  when  the  earth  shall  now  be  shovelled  on  him, 

If  that  which  served  him  for  a  soul  were  still 

Within  its  husk,  't  would  still  be  dirt  to  dirt. 

Stran.    Yet  your  next  newspapers  will  blazon  him, 
30  Tor  industry  and  honorable  wealth, 

A  bright  example. 

Towns.  Even  half  a  million 

Gets  him  no  other  praise.     But  come  this  way 

*  Mutes  are  persons  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  who  are  sometimes  employed 
by  undertakers,  in  England,  to  stand  before  the  door  of  a  house  in  which  prep- 
arations for  a  funeral  are  going  on. 


200  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Some  twelve  montlis  hence,  and  you  will  find  his  virtues 
Trimly  set  forth  in  lapidary  lines, 
Faith,  with  her  torch  beside,  and  little  Cupids 
Dropping  upon  his  urn  their  marble  tears. 


LXIIL  — VtlCES   0F   THE   DEAD. 

Gumming. 

[John  Gumming,  D.  D.,  is  the  pastor  of  a  Scotch  Presbyterian  church  in  the 
city  of  London.  He  is  a  popular  and  eloquent  preacher,  and  the  author  of 
many  works  which  arc  favorably  known  in  this  country  as  well  as  in  Europe. 
Among  them  are  "  Apocalyptic  Sketches,"  "  Lectures  on  the  Parables,"  and 
«'  Voices  of  the  Night."] 

We  die,  but  leave  an  influence  behind  us  that  survives. 
The  echoes  of  our  words  are  evermore  repeated,  and  reflected 
along  the  ages.  It  is  what  man  was  that  lives  and  acts 
after  him.  What  he  said  sounds  along  the  years  like  voices 
5  amid  the  mountain  gorges ;  and  what  he  did  is  repeated 
after  him  in  ever  multiplying  and  never  ceasing  reverber- 
ations. Every  man  has  left  behind  him  influences  for 
good  or  for  evil  that  will  never  exhaust  themselves.  The 
sphere  in  which  he  acts  may  be  small,  or  it  may  be  great. 

10  It  may  be  his  fireside,  or  it  may  be  a  kingdom  ;  a  village, 
or  a  great  nation  ;  it  may  be  a  parish,  or  broad  Europe ; 
but  act  he  does,  ceaselessly  and  forever.  His  friends,  his 
family,  his  successors  in  office,  his  relatives  are  all  recep- 
tive of  an  influence,  a  moral  influence  which  he  has  trans- 

15  mitted  and  bequeathed  to  mankind ;  either  a  blessing  which 
will  repeat  itself  in  showers  of  benedictions,  or  a  curse 
which  will  multiply  itself  in  ever  accumulating  evil. 

Every  man  is  a  missionary,  now  and  forever,  for  good  or 
for  evil,  whether  he  intends  and  designs  it,  or  not.     He 

20  may  be  a  blot,  radiating  his  dark  influence  outward  to  the 
very  circumference  of  society,  or  he  may  be  a  blessing, 
spreading  benedictions  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  201 

world ;  but  a  blank  he  cannot  be.  The  seed  sown  in  life 
springs  up  in  harvests  of  blessings,  or  harvests  of  sorrow. 
Whether  our  influence  be  great  or  small,  whether  it  be  good 
or  evil,  it  lasts,  it  lives  somewhere,  within  some  limit,  and 
5  is  operative  wherever  it  is.  The  grave  buries  the  dead 
dust,  but  the  character  walks  the  world,  and  distributes 
itself,  as  a  benediction  or  a  curse,  among  the  families  of 
mankind. 

The  sun  sets  beyond  the  western  hills,  but  the  trail  of 

10  light  he  leaves  behind  him  guides  the  pilgrim  to  his  dis- 
tant home.     The  tree  falls  in  the  forest ;  but  in  the  lapse 
of  ages  it  is  turned  into  coal,  and  our  fires  burn  now  the 
,    brighter,  because  it  grew  and  fell.     The  coral  insect  dies, 
but  the  reef  it  raised  breaks  the  surge  on  the  shores  of 

15  great  continents,  or  has  formed  an  isle  in  the  bosom  of  the 
ocean,  to  wave  with  harvests  for  the  good  of  man.  We  live 
and  we  die ;  but  the  good  or  evil  that  we  do  lives  after  us, 
and  is  not  "buried  with  our  bones." 

The  babe  that  perished  on  the  bosom  of  its  mother, 

20  like  a  flower  that  bowed  its  head  and  drooped  amid  the 
death-frosts  of  time  —  that  babe,  not  only  in  its  image, 
but  in  its  influence,  still  lives  and  speaks  in  the  chambers 
of  the  mother's  heart. 

The  friend  with  whom  we  took  sweet  counsel  is  removed 

25  visibly  from  the  outward  eye;  but  the  lessons  that  he 
taught,  the  grand  sentiments  that  he  uttered,  the  holy 
deeds  of  generosity  by  which  he  was  characterized,  the 
m^ral  lineaments  and  likeness  of  the  man,  still  sur- 
vive,  and  appear  in  the  silence  of  eventide,  and  on  the 

30  tablets  of  memory,  and  in  the  light  of  mom,  and  noon, 
and  dewy  eve  ;  and,  being  dead,  he  yet  speaks  eloquently, 
and  in  the  midst  of  us. 

Mahomet  still  lives  in  his  practical  and  disastrous  in- 
fluence in  the  East.    Napoleon  still  is  France,  and  France 

35  is  almost  Napoleon.  Martin  Luther's  dead  dust  sleeps  at 
Wittenburg,  but  Martin  Luther's  accents  still  ring  through 


202  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

the  churches  of  Christendom.  Shakspeare,  Byron,  and  Mil- 
ton, all  live  in  their  influence,  for  good  or  evil.  The  apostle 
from  his  chafr,  the  minister  from  his  pulpit,  the  martyr 
from  his  flame-shroud,  the  statesman  from  his  cabinet,  the 
5  soldier  in  the  field,  the  sailor  on  the  deck,  who  all  have 
passed  away  to  their  graves,  still  live  in  the  practical  deeds 
that  they  did,  in  the  lives  they  lived,  and  in  the  powerful 
lessons  that  they  left  behind  them. 

"  None  of  us  liveth  to  himself;  "  others  are  afi'ected  by 

10  that  life  ;  **  or  dieth  to  himself;  "  others  are  interested  in 
that  death.  Our  queen's  crown  may  moulder,  but  she  who 
wore  it  will  act  upon  the  ages  which  are  yet  to  come.  The 
noble's  coronet  may  be  reft  in  pieces,  but  the  wearer  of  it 
is  now  doing  what  will  be  reflected  by  thousands  who  will 

15  be  made  and  moulded  by  him.  Dignity,  and  rank,  and 
riches,  are  all  corruptible  and  worthless ;  but  moral  char- 
acter has  an  immortality  that  no  sword-point  can  destroy ; 
that  ever  walks  the  world  and  leaves  lasting  influences 
behind. 

20  What  we  do  is  transacted  on  a  stage  of  which  all  in  the 
universe  are  spectators.  What  we  say  is  transmitted  in 
echoes  that  will  never  cease.  What  we  are  is  influencing 
and  acting  on  the  rest  of  mankind.  Neutral  we  cannot  be. 
Living  we  act,  and  dead  we  speak ;  and  the  whole  universe 

25  is  the  mighty  company  forever  looking,  forever  listening, 
and  all  nature  the  tablets  forever  recording  the  words,  the 
deeds,  the  thoughts,  the  passions,  of  mankind  ! 

Monuments,  and  columns,  and  statues,  erected  to  heroes, 
poets,  orators,  statesmen,  are  all  influences  that  extend  into 

30  the  future  ages.  *' The  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle" •••= 
still  speaks.  The  Mantuan  bardf  still  sings  in  every  school. 
Shakspeare,  the  bard  of  Avon,  is  still  translated  into  every 
tongue.  The  philosophy  of  the  Stagyrite  J  is  still  felt  in 
every  academy.     Whether  these  influences  are  beneficent 

35  or  the  reverse,  they  are  influences  fraught  with   power. 

♦Homer.  fVirgU.  t  Aristotle. 


HILLARD'S    SIXTH    READEll.  203 

How  blest  must  be  the  recollection  of  those  who,  like  the 
setting  sun,  have  left  a  trail  of  light  behind  them  by  which 
others  may  see  the  way  to  that  rest  which  remaineth  with 
the  people  of  God  ! 
5  It  is  only  the  pure  fountain  that  brings  forth  pure  water. 
The  good  tree  only  will  produce  the  good  fruit.  If  the 
centre  from  which  all  proceeds  is  pure  and  holy,  the  radii 
of  influence  from  it  will  be  pure  and  holy  also.  Go  forth, 
then,  into  the  spheres  that  you  occupy,  the  employments, 

10  the  trades,  the  professions  of  social  life  ;  go  forth  into  the 
high  places  or  into  the  lowly  places  of  the  land ;  mix  with 
the  roaring  cataracts  of  social  convulsions,  or  mingle  amid 
the  eddies  and  streamlets  of  quiet  and  domestic  life ;  what- 
ever sphere  you  fill,  carrying  into  it  a  holy  heart,  you  will 

15  radiate  around  you  life  and  power,  and  leave  behind  you 
holy  and  beneficent  influences. 


LXIV.  — THE   EAINBtW. 

Anonymous. 
The  evening  was  glorious,  and  light  through  the  trees 
Played  the  sunshine  and  rain-drops,  the  birds  and  the 

breeze ; 
The  landscape,  outstretching  in  loveliness,  lay 
On  the  lap  of  the  year,  in  the  beauty  of  May. 

For  the  Queen  of  the  Spring,  as  she  passed  down  the  vale, 
Left  her  robe  on  the  trees,  and  her  breath  on  the  gale ; 
And  the  smile  of  her  promise  gave  joy  to  the  hours, 
And  fresh  in  her  footsteps  sprang  herbage  and  flowers. 

The  skies,  like  a  banner  in  sunset  unrolled, 
O'er  the  west  threw  their  splendor  of  azure  and  gold ; 
But  one  cloud  at  a  distance  rose  dense,  and  increased. 
Till  its  margin  of  black  touched  the  zenith,  and  east. 


204  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

4     We  gazed  on  the  scenes,  while  around  us  they  glowed, 
When  a  vision  of  beauty  appeared  on  the  cloud ;  — 
'T  was  not  like  the  Sun,  as  at  mid-day  we  view, 
Kor  the  Moon,  that  rolls  nightly  through  star-light  and 
blue. 

6     Like  a  spirit,  it  came  in  the  van  of  the  storm  ! 

And  the  eye,  and  the  heart,  hailed  its  beautiful  form  ; 
For  it  looked  not  severe,  like  an  Angel  of  Wrath, 
But  its  garment  of  brightness  illumed  its  dark  path. 

6  In  the  hues  of  its  grandeur,  sublimely  it  stood, 
O'er  the  river,  the  village,  the  field,  and  the  wood ; 
And  river,  field,  village,  and  woodlands  grew  bright, 
As  conscious  they  gave  and  afforded  delight. 

7  'T  was  the  bow  of  Omnipotence ;  bent  in  His  hand 
Whose  grasp  at  Creation  the  universe  spanned ; 
'T  was  the  presence  of  God,  in  a  symbol  sublime, 
His  vow  from  the  flood  to  the  exit  of  Time  ! 

8  Not  dreadful,  as  when  in  the  whirlwind  He  pleads, 
When  storms  are  His  chariot,  and  lightnings  His  steeds, 
The  black  clouds  His  banner  of  vengeance  unfurled. 
And  thunder  His  voice  to  a  guilt-stricken  world ;  — 

9  In  the  breath  of  his  presence,  when  thousands  expire, 
And  seas  boil  with  fury,  and  rocks  burn  with  fire. 

And  the  sword  and  the  plague-spot,  with  death  strew  the 

plain, 
And  vultures,  and  wolves,  are  the  graves  of  the  slain  : 

10     Not  such  was  the  Eainbow,  that  beautiful  one ! 

Whose  arch  was  refraction,  its  key-stone  —  the  Sun ; 
A  pavilion  it  seemed  which  the  Deity  graced. 
And  Justice  and  Mercy  met  there,  and  embraced. 


205 


1 1  Awhile,  and  it  sweetly  bent  over  the  gloom, 

Like  Love  o'er  a  death-couch,  or  Hope  o'er  the  tomb ; 
Then  left  the  dark  scene ;  whence  it  slowly  retired, 
As  if  Love  had  just  vanished,  or  Hope  had  expired. 

12  I  gazed  not  9,lone  on  that  source  of  my  song; 
To  all  who  beheld  it  these  verses  belong  ; 
Its  presence  to  all  was  the  path  of  the  Lord; 

Each  full  heart  expanded,  —  grew  warm,  and  adored. 

13  Like  a  visit  —  the  converse  of  friends  —  or  a  day. 
That  bow,  from  my  sight,  passed  forever  away : 

Like  that  visit,  that  converse,  that  day  —  to  my  hearty 
That  bow  from  remembrance  can  never  depart. 

14  'T  is  a  picture  in  memory  distinctly  defined, 
With  the  strong  and  unperishing  colors  of  mind : 
A  part  of  my  being  beyond  my  control, 

Beheld  on  that  cloud,  and  transcribed  on  my  souL 


LXV.  — INCENTIVES    T#    DUTY. 

Sumner. 

[Charles  Sumner  was  bom  in  Boston,  January  6, 1811,  and  was  graduated 
at  Harvard  College  in  1830.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1834,  and  in  1837 
visited  Europe,  where  he  remained  till  1840,  travelling'  in  Italy,  Germany,  and 
France,  and  residing  nearly  a  year  in  England.  On  the  Fourth  of  July,  1845, 
he  pronounced  before  the  municipal  authorities  of  Boston  an  oration  on  "  The 
True  Grandeur  of  Nations,"  which  was  an  eloquent  argument  against  the  war 
system  of  nations,  and  in  favor  of  peaceful  arbitration  in  the  settlement  of 
international  questions.  This  oration  was  widely  circulated,  both  in  America 
and  England.  Having  become  earnestly  engaged  in  the  anti-slavery  cause,  he 
was  chosen  to  the  senate  of  the  United  States  from  the  state  of  Massachusetts, 
in  the  winter  of  1851,  and  still  continues  a  member  of  that  body,  having  been 
twice  re-elected.  He  is  well  known  for  the  energy  and  eloquence  with  which 
he  has  assailed  the  institution  of  slavery.  His  works,  consisting  of  speeches 
and  occasional  addresses,  have  been  published  in  three  volumes,  and  are  re- 
markable for  fervid  eloquence  and  abundant  illustration. 

The  following  extract  is  the  conclusion  of  a  discourse  pronounced  before 
18 


206 


the  Phi-Beta-Kappa  Society  of  Harvard  College,  at  their  anniversary,  Au^st 
27, 1846,  entitled  "  The  Scholar,  the  Jurist,  the  Artist,  the  rhilantliropist," 
and  in  commemoration  of  four  deceased  members  of  the  society,  John  Pick- 
ering, Joseph  Story,  "Washington  Allston,  and  William  EUery  Channing.] 

Thus  have  I  attempted,  humbly  and  affectionately,  to 
bring  before  you  the  images  of  our  departed  brothers, 
while  I  dwelt  on  the  great  causes  in  which  their  lives 
were  made  manifest.  Servants  of  Knowledge,  of  Justice, 
5  of  Beauty,  of  Love,  they  have  ascended  to  the  great  Source 
of  Knowledge,  Justice,  Beauty,  Love.  Each  of  our  broth- 
ers is  removed  ;  but  though  dead,  yet  speaketh,  informing 
our  understandings,  strengthening  our  sense  of  justice, 
refining  our  tastes,  enlarging  our  sympathies.     The  body 

10  dies ;  but  the  page  of  the  Scholar,  the  interpretation  of  the 
Jurist,  the  creation  of  the  Artist,  the  beneficence  of  the 
Philanthropist,  cannot  die. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  their  lives  and  characters,  less  in 
grief  for  what  we  have  lost,  than  in  gratitude  for  what  we 

15  so  long  possessed,  and  still  retain,  in  their  precious  exam- 
ple. In  proud  recollection  of  her  departed  children,  Alma 
Mater  might  well  exclaim,  in  those  touching  words  of  pa- 
ternal grief,  that  she  would  not  give  her  dead  sons  for 
any  living  sons  in  Christendom.     Pickering,  Story,  Alls- 

20  ton,  Channing !  A  grand  Quaternion !  Each,  in  his 
peculiar  sphere,  was  foremost  in  his  country.  Each 
might  have  said,  what  the  modesty  of  Demosthenes  did 
not  forbid  him  to  boast,  that,  through  him,  his  country 
had  been  crowned  abroad.     Their  labors  were  wide  as  the 

25  Commonwealth  of  Letters,  Laws,  Art,  Humanity,  and  have 
found  acceptance  wherever  these  have  found  dominion. 

Their  lives,  which  overflow  with  instruction,  teach  one 
persuasive  lesson,  which  speaks  alike  to  all  of  every  calling 
and  pursuit,  —  not  to  live  for  ourselves  alone.     They  lived 

30  for  Knowledge,  Justice,  Beauty,  Humanity.  Withdrawing 
from  the  strifes  of  the  world,  from  the  allurements  of 
office,  and  the  rage  for  gain,  they  consecrated  themselves 
to  the  pursuit  of  excellence,  and  each,  in  his  own  voca- 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  207 

tion,  to  beneficent  labor.  They  were  all  philanthropists ; 
for  the  labors  of  all  promoted  the  welfare  and  happiness 
of  mankind. 

In  the  contemplation  of  their  generous,  unselfish  lives, 
6  we  feel  the  insignificance  of  office  and  wealth,  which  men 
so  hotly  pursue.  What  is  office  ?  and  what  is  wealth  ? 
They  are  the  expressions  and  representatives  of  what  is 
present  and  fleeting  only,  investing  their  possessor,  per- 
haps, with  a  brief  and  local  regard.     But  let  this  not  be 

10  exaggerated ;  let  it  not  be  confounded  with  the  serene 
fame  which  is  the  reflection  of  important  labors  in  great 
causes.  The  street  lights,  within  the  circle  of  their 
nightly  scintillation,  seem  to  outshine  the  distant  stars, 
observed  of  men  in  all  lands  and  times ;  but  gas-lamps  are 

15  not  to  be  mistaken  for  the  celestial  luminaries. 

They,  who  live  only  for  wealth  and  the  things  of  this 
world,  follow  shadows,  neglecting  the  great  realities  which 
are  eternal  on  earth  and  in  heaven.  After  the  perturba- 
tions of  life,  all  its  accumulated  possessions  must  be  re- 

20  signed,  except  those  alone  which  have  been  devoted  to 
God  and  mankind.  What  we  do  for  ourselves,  perishes 
with  this  mortal  dust ;  what  we  do  for  others,  lives  in  the 
grateful  hearts  of  all  who  feel  or  know  the  benefaction. 
Worms  may  destroy  the  body ;  but  they  cannot  consume 

25  such  a  fame.  It  is  fondly  cherished  on  earth,  and  never 
forgotten  in  heaven. 

The  selfish  struggles  of  the  crowd,  the  clamors  of  a 
false  patriotism,  the  suggestions  of  a  sordid  ambition,  can- 
not obscure  that  great  commanding  duty  which  enjoins 

30  perpetual  labor,  without  distinction  of  country,  of  color, 
or  of  race,  for  the  welfare  of  the  whole  Human  Family. 
In  this  mighty  Christian  cause.  Knowledge,  Jurisprudence, 
Art,  Philanthropy,  all  are  blessed  ministers.  More  puis- 
sant than  the  Sword,  they  shall  lead  mankind  from  the 

35  bondage  of  error  into  that  service  which  is  perfect  freedom. 
Our  departed  brothers  join  in  summoning  you  to  this  glad- 


208  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

some  obedience.  Their  examples  speak  for  them.  Go 
forth  into  the  many  mansions  of  the  house  of  life :  schol- 
ars !  store  them  with  learning  ;  jurists  !  build  them  with 
justice;  artists!  adorn  them  with  beauty;  philanthropists! 
6  let  them  resound  with  love.  Be  servants  of  truth,  each  in 
his  vocation  ;  doers  of  the  word  and  not  hearers  only.  Be 
sincere,  pure  in  heart,  earnest,  enthusiastic.  A  virtuous 
enthusiasm  is  always  self-forgetful  and  noble.  It  is  the 
only  inspiration  now  vouchsafed  to  man.    Like  Pickering, 

10  blend  humility  with  learning.  Like  Story,  ascend  above 
the  Present,  in  place  and  time.  Like  Allston,  regard  fame 
only  as  the  eternal  shadow  of  excellence.  Like  Channing, 
bend  in  adoration  before  the  right.  Cultivate  alike  the 
wisdom  of  experience  and  the  wisdom  of  hope.     Mindful 

15  of  the  Future,  do  not  neglect  the  Past:  awed  by  the 
majesty  of  Antiquity,  turn  not  with  indifference  from  the 
Future.  True  wisdom  looks  to  the  ages  before  us,  as  well 
as  behind  us.  Like  the  Janus  of  the  Capitol,  one  front 
thoughtfully  regards  the  Past,  rich  with  experience,  with 

20  memories,  with  the  priceless  traditions  of  virtue ;  the 
other  is  earnestly  directed  to  the  All  Hail  Hereafter, 
richer  still  with  its  transcendent  hopes  and  unfulfilled 
prophecies. 

We  stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  age,  which  is  pre- 

25  paring  to  recognize  new  influences.  The  ancient  divinities 
of  Violence  and  Wrong  are  retreating  to  their  kindred 
darkness. 

There  's  a  fount  about  to  stream, 

There  's  a  light  about  to  beam, 
SO  There  's  a  warmth  about  to  glow, 

There  's  a  flower  about  to  blow ; 

There  's  a  midnight  blackness  changing 
Into  gray ; 

Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action, 
35  Clear  the  way. 

Aid  tlie  daM^ning,  tongue  and  pen; 
^Aid it,  hopes  of  honest  men; 


hillaed's  sixth  readek.  209 

Aid  it,  paper ;  aid  it,  type ; 
Aid  it,  for  the  liour  is  ripe. 
And  our  earnest  must  not  slacken 
Into  play ; 
6  Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way. 

The  age  of  Chivalry  has  gone.  An  age  of  Humanity  has 
come.  The  Horse,  whose  importance  more  than  human, 
gave  the  name  to  that  early  period  of  gallantry  and  war," 

10  now  yields  his  foremost  place  to  Man.  In  serving  him, 
in  promoting  his  elevation,  in  contributing  to  his  welfare, 
in  doing  him  good,  there  are  fields  of  bloodless  triumph, 
nobler  far  than  any  in  which  the  bravest  knight  ever  con- 
quered.    Here  are  spaces  of  labor,  wide  as  the  world,  lofty 

15  as  heaven.  Let  me  say,  then,  in  the  benison  once  bestowed 
upon  the  youthful  knight,  —  Scholars !  jurists  !  artists  ! 
philanthropists  !  heroes  of  a  Christian  age,  companions  of 
a  celestial  knighthood,  "  Go  forth,  be  brave,  loyal,  and 
successful ! " 

20  And  may  it  be  our  office  to-day  to  light  a  fresh  beacon- 
fire  on  the  venerable  walls  of  Harvard,  sacred  to  Truth,  to 
Christ,  and  the  Church,  —  to  Truth  Immortal,  to  Christ 
the  Comforter,  to  the  Holy  Church  Universal.  Let  the 
flame  spread  from  steeple  to  steeple,  from  hill  to  hill,  from 

25  island  to  island,  from  continent  to  continent,  till  the  long 
lineage  of  fires  shall  illumine  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  ; 
animating  them  to  the  holy  contests  of  Knowledge,  Jus- 
tice, Beauty,  Love. 


LXVL  — ADDEESS   T0  THE   SUN. 

OSSIAN. 

0  THOU  that  rollest  above,  round  as  the  shield  of  my 
fathers  !     Whence  are  thy  beams,  0  sun  !  thy  everlasting 

♦Chivalry  is  derived  from  clieval,  the  French  word  for  a  horse. 
18* 


210  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

light  ?  Thou  comest  forth,  in  thy  awful  beauty,  and  the 
stars  hide  themselves  in  the  sky  ;  the  moon,  cold  and  pale, 
sinks  in  the  western  wave.  But  thou  thyself  mo  vest  alone : 
who  can  be  a  companion  of  thy  course  ?  The  oaks  of  the 
5  mountains  fall;  the  mountains  themselves  decay  with 
years ;  the  ocean  shrinks  and  grows  again  ;  the  moon  her- 
self is  lost  in  heaven ;  but  thou  art  forever  the  same,  re- 
joicing in  the  brightness  of  thy  course.  When  the  world 
is  dark  with  tempests  ;  when  thunder  rolls,  and  lightning 

10  flies ;  thou  lookest  in  thy  beauty  from  the  clouds,  and 
laughest  at  the  storm.  But  to  Ossian,  thou  lookest  in 
vain ;  for  he  beholds  thy  beams  no  more,  whether  thy  yel- 
low hair  flows  on  the  eastern  clouds,  or  thou  tremblest  at 
the  gates  of  the  west     But  thou  art,  perhaps,  like  me,  for 

15  a  season,  and  thy  years  will  have  an  end.     Thou  shalt 

sleep  in  thy  clouds,  careless  of  the  voice  of  the  morning. 

Exult  then  0  sun,  in  the  strength  of  thy  youth  !     Age  is 

dark  and  unlovely  ;  it  is  like  the  glimmering  light  of  the 

'     moon,  when  it  shines  through  broken  clouds,  and  the  mist 

20  is  on  the  hills ;  the  blast  of  the  north  is  on  the  plain,  the 
traveller  shrinks  in  the  midst  of  his  journey. 


LXVIL  — THE  BUEIAL  «E  AEN0LD.<» 
,     N.  P.  Willis. 

[Mr.  Willis  ia«MMMg,.il4M0filiagRg«iMr  in  prose  and  verse.  He  is  a  grad- 
uate of  Yale  Colleg-e,  of  the  class  of  1827.  His  prose  writings  fill  many  vol- 
umes, comprising  travels,  tales,  essays,  sketches  of  life  and  manners,  and  de- 
scriptions of  natural  scenery.  His  style  is  airy  and  graceful,  his  perception  of 
beauty  keen  and  discriminating,  and  his  descriptive  powers  of  a  high  order. 
Few  men  can  present  a  visible  scene,  a  landscape,  or  a  natural  object  more  dis- 
tinctly to  the  eye.  His  poetry  has  the  same  general  characteristics.  It  is 
sweet,  flowing,  and  musical,  and,  in  its  best  specimens,  marked  by  truth  of 
sentiment  and  delicacy  of  feeling.  He  has  been  for  many  years  one  of  the 
editors  of  the  "  Home  Journal,"  a  weekly  newspaper  published  in  New  York, 
and  has  resided  upon  the  Hudson  River.    The  fine  sketches  of  the  scenery  in 

A  member  of  the  senior  class  In  Yale  College. 


211 


his  neighborhood  which  have  from  time  to  time  appeared  in  his  paper  have 
thrown  a  new  interest  over  that  noble  river,  already  graced  with  so  many  his- 
torical and  literary  associations. 

Mr.  Willis,  of  late  years,  has  written  less  poetry  than  could  be  wished  by 
those  who  remember  and  admire  the  grace  and  sweetness  of  so  many  of  hia 
early  productions.] 

1  Ye  'vE  gathered  to  your  place  of  prayer, 

With  slow  and  measured  tread  : 
Your  ranks  are  full,  your  mates  all  there — 
r>      But  the  soul  of  one  has  fled. 
^^  He  was  the  proudest  in  his  strength, 
The  manliest  of  ye  all ; 
Why  lies  he  at  that  fearful  length, 
And  ye  around  his  pall  ? 

2  Ye  reckon  it  in  days,  since  he 

Strode  up  that  foot- worn  aisle, 
With  his  dark  eye  flashing  gloriously. 

And  his  lip  wreathed  with  a  smile.  Aj^- 
0,  had  it  been  but  told  you  then,  fy' 

To  mark  whose  lamp  was  dim, 
From  out  yon  rank  of  fresh-lipped  men, 

Would  ye  have  singled  him  ? 

Whose  was  the  sinewy  arm,  which  flung 

Defiance  to  the  ring  ? 
Whose  laugh  of  victory  loudest  rung, 

But  not  for  glorying  ? 
Whose  heart,  in  generous  deed  and  thought, 

No  rivalry  might  brook, 
And  yet  distinction  claiming  not  ? 

There  lies  he  —  go  and  look  ! 

4     On  now  —  his  requiem  is  done, 
The  last  deep  prayer  is  said  — 
On  to  his  burial,  comrades  —  on. 
With  the  noblest  of  the  dead ! 


212  hillard's  sixth  eeadee. 

Slow  —  for  it  presses  heavily — 

It  is  a  man  ye  bear  ! 
Slow,  for  our  thoughts  dwell  wearily 

On  the  noble  sleeper  there. 


Tread  lightly,  comrades  !  —  we  have  laid 

His  dark  locks  on  his  brow  — 
Like  life  —  save  deeper  light  and  shade — 

We  '11  not  disturb  them  now. 
^  Tread  lightly  —  for  't  is  beautiful, 

That  blue-veined  eyelid's  sleep, 
Hiding  the  eye  death  left  so  dull  — 

Its  slumber  we  will  keep. 


¥ 


6     Best  now !  —  his  journeying  is  done  — 
Your  feet  are  on  his  sod  — 
Death's  chain  is  on  your  champion  — 


\»^ 


He  waiteth  here  his  God  !  Xf 

Ay  —  turn  and  weep  —  't  is  manliness      '^ 

To  be  heart-broken  here  — 
For  the  grave  of  earth's  best  nobleness 

Is  watered  by  the  tear. 


LXVIIL— THE   FUTUKE  ®E  AMEKICA. 

Webster. 

[Conclusion  of  a  Discourse  delivered  at  Plymouth,  Massachusetts,  December 
2, 1820,  iu  commemoration  of  the  first  settlement  in  New  England.] 

Let  us  not  forget  the  religious  character  of  our  origin. 
Our  fathers  were  brought  hither  by  their  high  veneration 
for  the  Christian  religion.  They  journeyed  in  its  light, 
and  labored  in  its  hope.  They  sought  to  incorporate  its 
5  principles  with  the  elements  of  their  society,  and  to  diffuse 
its  influence  through  all  their  institutions,  civil,  political, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  213 

and  literary.  Let  us  cherish  these  sentiments,  and  extend 
their  influence  still  more  widely  ;  in  the  full  conviction 
that  that  is  the  happiest  society  which  partakes  in  the 
highest  degree  of  the  mild  and  peaceable  spirit  of  Chris- 
5  tianity. 

The  hours  of  this  day  are  rapidly  flying,  and  this  occa- 
sion will  soon  be  passed.  Neither  we  nor  our  children  can 
expect  to  behold  its  return.  They  are  in  the  distant  regions 
of  futurity,  they  exist  only  in  the  all-creating  power  of 

10  God,  who  shall  stand  here,  a  hundred  years  hence,  to  trace, 
through  us,  their  descent  from  the  pilgrims,  and  to  survey, 
as  we  have  now  surveyed,  the  progress  of  their  country 
during  the  lapse  of  a  century.  We  would  anticipate  their 
concurrence  with  us  in  our  sentiments  of  deep  regard  for 

15  our  common  ancestors.  We  would  anticipate  and  partake 
the  pleasure  with  which  they  will  then  recount  the  steps 
of  New  England's  advancement.  On  the  morning  of  that 
day,  although  it  will  not  disturb  us  in  our  repose,  the  voice 
of  acclamation  and  gratitude,  commencing  on  the  rock  of 

20  Plymouth,  shall  be  transmitted  through  millions  of  the 
sons  of  the  pilgrims,  till  it  lose  itself  in  the  murmurs  of 
the  Pacific  seas. 

We  would  leave,  for  the  consideration  of  those  who  shall 
then  occupy  our  places,  some  proof  that  we  hold  the  bless- 

25  ings  transmitted  from  our  Withers  in  just  estimation ;  some 
proof  of  our  attachment  to  the  cause  of  good  government, 
and  of  civil  and  religious  liberty ;  some  proof  of  a  sincere 
and  ardent  desire  to  promote  everything  which  may  enlarge 
the  understandings  and  improve  the  hearts  of  men.     And 

30  when,  from  the  long  distance  of  a  hundred  years,  they 
shall  look  back  upon  us,  they  shall  know,  at  least,  that  we 
possessed  afi"ections,  which,  running  backward,  and  warm- 
ing with  gratitude  for  what  our  ancestors  have  done  for 
our  happiness,  run  forward  also  to  our  posterity,  and  meet 

35  them  with  cordial  salutation,  ere  yet  they  have  arrived  on 
the  shore  of  Being. 


214  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

Advance,  then,  ye  future  generations !  We  would  hail 
you  as  you  rise  in  your  long  succession  to  fill  the  places 
which  we  now  fill,  and  to  taste  the  blessings  of  existence 
where  we  are  passing,  and  soon  shall  have  passed,  our 
5  human  duration.  We  bid  you  welcome  to  this  pleasant  land 
of  the  Fathers.  We  bid  you  welcome  to  the  healthful 
skies  and  the  verdant  fields  of  New  England.  We  greet 
your  accession  to  the  great  inheritance  which  we  have 
enjoyed.     We  welcome  you  to  the  blessings  of  good  gov- 

10  crnmcnt  and  religious  liberty.     We  welcome  you  to  the 

treasures  of  science  and  the  delights  of  learning.     We 

welcome  you  to  the  transcendent  sweets  of  domestic  life, 

•  to  the  happiness  of  kindred  and  parents  and  children.    We 

welcome  you  to  the  immeasurable  blessings  of  rational  ex- 

15  istence,  the  immortal  hope  of  Christianity,  and  the  light 
of  everlasting  Truth  ! 


LXIX.  — ALL   THINGS   ARE   OF   G@D. 

Moore. 

[Thomas  Moore  was  born  in  Dublin,  May  28,  1779,  and  died  February  26, 
1862.  His  first  work,  a  translation  of  the  "  Odes  of  Anacreon,"  publislied 
in  1800,  was  received  with  mucli  favor;  and  from  that  time  lie  was  constantly 
before  the  public,  a"^j(,g|  «i  poet,  rose  to  a  popularity  second  only  to  that  of 
Byron  or  Scott.  His  loj^est  poem,  "  Lallallookh,"  is  a  brilliant  and  gorgeous 
production,  glowing  with  the  finest  hues  of  Oriental  painting,  and  true  in  its 
details;  but  it  cloys  the  mind  witii  its  excess  of  imaj^cry  and  the  luxuriant 
sweetness  of  its  versification.  His  "  Loves  of  the  Angels,"  another  poem  of 
some  length,  was  a  comparative  failure. 

Moore's  greatest  strength  is  shown  in  his  songs,  ballads,  and  lyric  effusions. 
In  these,  his  vivid  fancy,  his  sparkling  wit,  his  rich  command  of  poetical  ex- 
pression, his  love  of  ornament,  and  his  sense  of  music  find  an  appropriate 
sphere.  His  Irish  Melodies,  especially,  are  of  great  excellence  in  their  Avay. 
They  are  the  truest  and  most  earnest  things  he  ever  wrote.  In  many  of  his 
productions  there  is  more  or  less  of  make-believe  sentiment ;  but  here  we  feel 
the  pulse  of  truth.  The  web  of  Moore's  poetry,  however,  is  more  remarkable 
for  the  richness  of  its  coloring  than  the  fineness  of  its  texture.  He  is  not  a 
very  careful  writer,  and  does  not  bear  a  rigid  verbal  criticism. 

Moore's  satirical  and  humorous  poems  — of  which  he  wrote  many  —  are  per- 
haps entitled  to  ev(ni  a  higher  comparative  rank  than  his  serious  productions, 
because  they  are  suth  genuine  and  natural  expressions  of  his  mind.  He  was 
full  of  wit  and  animal  spirits,  aud  seemed  to  take  positive  delight  iu  darting 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  215 

his  pointed  and  g^littoring  shafts  against  literary  and  political  opponents.  In 
these  lighter  effusions,  also,  we  do  not  require  the  depth  of  feeling,  the  moral 
tone,  and  tlie  dignity  of  scutimeut,  which  we  seek  —  and  seek  in  vaiu' — in  his 
serious  poetry.  Many  of  them,  however,  were  called  forth  by  the  passing 
occurrences  of  the  day  and  have  lost  their  interest  with  the  occasion  that  gave 
them  birih. 

In  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  Moore  was  a  diligent  laborer  in  the  trade  of 
literature,  and  wrote  many  works  in  prose;  among  them,  "  Lives  of  Sheridan 
and  liyron,"  "  The  Epicurean,"  a  tale, "  The  History  of  Ireland,"  a  production 
of  much  research,  "  The  Life  of  Captain  llock,"  "  Travels  of  an  Irish  Gentle- 
man in  Search  of  a  Religion,"  &c.  His  prose  writings,  in  general,  have  not 
added  nmch  to  his  literary  reputation. 

Moore's  private  character  was  amiable  and  respectable  on  the  whole,  but 
he  was  a  little  too  inclined  to  pay  court  to  persons  of  higher  social  position 
than  himself.  He  was  a  devoted  and  excellent  son,  and  without  reproach  in 
his  domestic  relations.  He  had  some  knowledge  of  music,  and  sang  his  own 
songs  with  great  taste  and  feeling :  this  accomplishment  and  his  brilliant  con-, 
versational  powers  made  him  a  great  favorite  in  society.] 

1  Thou  art,  0  God,  the  life  and  light 

J  Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see ; 

Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 

Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thee. 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine, 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 

2  When  day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 

Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even, 
And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 

Through  opening  vistas  into  heaven, 
Those  hues  that  make  the  sun's  decline 
So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord,  are  thine. 


When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies, 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 
Is  sparkling  with  unnumbered  eyes, 

That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 

So  grand,  so  countless.  Lord,  are  thine. 

When  youthful  spring  around  us  breathes, 
Thy  spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh, 


216  HILLAi;i;'s    SIXTH    HEADER. 

And  every  flower  that  Summer  wreathes 

Is  born  beneath  thy  kindling  eye : 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine, 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 


LXX.  —  GX    THE    PLEASURE    $F    ACQUIRING 

KNOWLEDGE. 

Alisox. 

[AnCHTBA^D  AOSON  waa  born  in  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  November  13, 1757, 
and  died  tliere  May  17,  isao.  He  was  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng^Iaud. 
Ho  wrote  "  Essays  on  the  Nature  and  Principles  of  Taste,"  a  much  admind 
work,  which  passed  through  several  editions.  He  also  published  two  volumes  of 
sermons,  which  obtained  a  wide-spread  poi)uliirity  both  in  England  and  Auior- 
ica.  Their  reputation  has  subsequently  declined,  and  they  are  less  remarkable 
for  vigor  of  thought  than  for  finished  elegance  of  composition.] 

In  every  period  of  life,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is 
one  of  the  most  pleasing  employments  of  the  human  mind. 
But  in  youth,  there  are  circumstances  which  make  it  pro- 
ductive of  higher  enjoyment.  It  is  then  that  everything 
5  has  the  charm  of  novelty ;  that  curiosity  and  fancy  are 
awake  ;  and  that  the  heart  swells  with  the  anticipations  of 
future  eminence  and  utility.  Even  in  those  lower  branches 
of  instruction,  which  we  call  mere  accomplishments,  there 
is  something  always  pleasing  to  the  young  in  their  acquisi- 

10  tion.  They  seem  to  become  every  well-educated  person ; 
they  adorn,  if  they  do  not  dignify,  humanity  ;  and,  what  is 
far  more,  while  they  give  an  elegant  employment  to  the 
hours  of  leisure  and  relaxation,  they  afford  a  means  of 
contributing  to  the  purity  and  innocence  of  domestic  life. 

15  But  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  of  the  higher  kind, — 
in  the  hours  when  the  young  gradually  begin  the  study  of 
the  laws  of  nature  and  of  the  faculties  of  the  human  mind, 
or  of  the  magnificent  revelations  of  the  Gospel,  —  there  is 
a  pleasure  of  a  sublimer  nature.  The  cloud,  which  in  their 
infant  years  seemed  to  cover  nature  from  their  view,  begins 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  217 

gradually  to  resolve.  The  world,  in  which  they  are  placed, 
opens  with  all  its  wonders  upon  their  eye ;  their  powers  of 
attention  and  observation  seem  to  expand  with  the  scene 
before  them;  and,  while  they  see,  for  the  first  time,  the 
immensity  of  the  universe  of  God,  and  mark  the  majestic 
simplicity  of  those  laws  by  which  its  operations  are  con- 
ducted, they  feel  as  if  they  were  awakened  to  a  higher 
species  of  being,  and  admitted  into  nearer  intercourse  with 
the  Author  of  Nature. 

10  It  is  this  period,  accordingly,  more  than  all  others,  that 
determines  our  hopes  or  fears  of  the  future  fate  of  the 
young.  To  feel  no  joy  in  such  pursuits;  to  listen  care- 
lessly to  the  voice  which  brings  such  magnificent  instruc- 
tion ;  to  see  the  veil  raised  which  conceals  the  counsels  of 

15  the  Deity,  and  to  show  no  emotion  at  the  discovery,  —  are 
symptoms  of  a  weak  and  torpid  spirit,  —  of  a  mind  unwor- 
thy of  the  advantages  it  possesses,  and  fitted  only  for  the 
humility  of  sensual  and  ignoble  pleasure.  Of  those,  on 
the  contrary,  who  distinguish  themselves  by  the  love  of 

20  knowledge,  who  follow  with  ardor  the  career  that  is  open 
to  them,  we  are  apt  to  form  the  most  honorable  presages. 
It  is  the  character  which  is  natural  to  youth,  and  which, 
therefore,  promises  well  of  their  maturity.  We  foresee  for 
them,  at  least,  a  life  of  pure  and  virtuous  enjoyment,  and 

25  we  are  willing  to  anticipate  no  common  share  of  future 
usefulness  and  splendor. 

In  the  second  place,  the  pursuits  of  knowledge  lead  not 
only  to  happiness  but  to  honor.  "  Length  of  days  is  in 
her  right  hand,  and  in  her  left  are  riches  and  honor."     It 

30  is  honorable  to  excel  even  in  the  most  trifling  species  of 
knowledge,  in  those  which  can  amuse  only  the  passing 
hour.  It  is  more  honorable  to  excel  in  those  difierent 
branches  of  science  which  are  connected  with  the  liberal 
professions  of  life?  and  which  tend  so  much  to  the  dignity 

85  and  well-being  of  humanity. 

It  is  the  means  of  raising  the  most  obscure  to  esteem 
19 


218  hillard's  sixth  readep 

and  attention  ;  it  opens  to  the  just  ambition  of  youth  some 
of  tlie  most  distinguished  and  respected  situations  in  soci- 
ety ;  and  it  places  them  there,  with  the  consoling  reflection, 
that  it  is  to  their  own  industry  and  labor,  in  the  provi- 
5  dence  of  God,  that  they  are  alone  indebted  for  them.  But, 
to  excel  in  the  higher  attainments  of  knowledge,  to  be 
distinguished  in  those  greater  pursuits  which  have  com- 
manded the  attention  and  exhausted  the  abilities  of  the 
wise  in  every  former  age,  —  is,  perhaps,  of  all'  the  dis- 

10  tinctions  of  human  understanding,  the  most  honorable 
and  grateful. 

When  we  look  back  upon  the  great  men  who  have  gone 
before  us  in  every  path  of  glory,  we  feel  our  eye  turn  from 
the  career  of  war  and  ambition,  and  involuntarily  rest  upon 

15  those  who  have  displayed  the  great  truths  of  religion,  who 
have  investigated  the  laws  of  social  welfare,  or  extended 
the  sphere  of  human  knowledge.  These  are  honors,  we 
feel,  which  have  been  gained  without  a  crime,  and  which 
can  be  enjoyed  without  remorse.     They  are  honors  also 

20  which  can  never  die,  —  which  can  shed  lustre  even  upon 
the  humblest  head,  —  and  to  which  the  young  of  every 

I      succeeding  age  will  look  up,  as  their  brightest  incentives 

>     to  the  pursuit  of  virtuous  fame. 


LXXI.  — HYMN   AT    THE    C0NSECKATION   OF  A 
CEMETEEY. 

Newell. 

[This  beautiful  hymn  was  sung  at  the  consecration  of  a  cemetery  belonging 
to  the  city  of  Cambridge,  in  October,  1854.  It  was  written  by  the  Rev.  Wil- 
liam Newell,  a  graduate  of  Harvard  College  of  the  class  of  1824,  and  pastor 
of  the  First  Congregational  Church  in  Cambridge.  Dr.  Newell  has  published 
very  little ;  but  this  poem  shows  him  to  be  capable  of  giving  beautiful  expres- 
sion to  genuine  Beligious  feeling.] 

1     Changing,  fading,  falling,  flying 

From  the  homes  that  gave  them  birth, 


HILLARI>'8   SIXTH  READER.  219 

Autumn  leaves,  in  "beauty  dying. 
Seek  the  mother  breast  of  earth. 

2  Soon  shall  all  the  songless  wood 

Shiver  in  the  deepening  snow, 
Mourning  in  its  solitude, 
Like  some  Kachel  in  her  woe. 

3  Slowly  sinks  yon  evening  sun, 

Softly  wanes  the  cheerful  light. 
And  —  the  twelve  hours'  labor  done — 
Onward  sweeps  the  solemn  night. 

4  So  on  many  a  home  of  gladness 

Falls,  0  Death,  thy  winter  gloom ; 
Stands  there  still  in  doubt  and  sadness, 
Many  a  Mary  at  the  tomb. 

6     But  the  genial  spring,  returning. 
Will  the  sylvan  pomp  renew, 
And  the  new-bom  flame  of  morning 
Kindle  rainbows  in  the  dew. 

6  So  shall  God,  His  promise  keeping. 

To  the  world  by  Jesus  given, 
"VVake  our  loved  ones,  sweetly  sleeping, 
At  the  breaking  dawn  of  heaven. 

7  Light  from  darkness !     Life  from  death  I 

Dies  the  body,  not  the  soul ; 
Trom  the  chrysalis  beneath 
Soars  the  spirit  to  its  goal. 

8  Father,  when  the  mourners  come 

With  the  slowly  moving  bier, 
Weeping  at  the  open  tomb 


220  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

9     Breathe  into  the  "bleeding  heart 

Hopes  that  die  not  with  the  dead ; 
And  the  peace  of  Christ  impart 
When  the  joys  of  life  have  fled  I 


LXXIL  — THE  C«NQUEK#E'S   GRAVE. 

Bryant. 

[This  poem,  which  appeared  originally  in  "Putnam's  Magazine,"  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  compositions  that  ever  was  written;  admirable  in  senti- 
ment, admirable  in  expression.  From  such  poetry  we  learn  how  much  we  owe 
to  those  poets  whose  genius  is  under  the  control  of  moral  feeling;  who  make 
the  imagination  and  the  sense  of  beauty  ministering  servants  at  the  altar  of 
the  highest  good  and  the  highest  truth.] 

1  Within  this  lowly  grave  a  conqueror  lies ; 

And  yet  the  monument  proclaims  it  not, 
Nor  round  the  sleeper's  name  hath  chisel  wrought 
The  emblems  of  a  fame  that  never  dies  — 
Ivy  and  amaranth  in  a  graceful  sheaf 
Twined  with  the  laurel's  fair,  imperial  leaf. 
A  simple  name  alone. 
To  the  great  world  unknown, 
Is  graven  here,  and  wild  flowers  rising  round, 
Meek  meadow-sweet  and  violets  of  the  ground, 
Lean  lovingly  against  the  humble  stone. 

2  Here,  in  the  quiet  earth,  they  laid  apart 

No  man  of  iron  mould  and  bloody  hands, 
Who  sought  to  wreak  upon  the  cowering  lands 
The  passions  that  consumed  his  restless  heart; 
But  one  of  tender  spirit  and  delicate  frame, 
Gentlest  in  mien  and  mind 
Of  gentle  womankind, 
Timidly  shrinking  from  the  breath  of  blame ; 
One  in  whose  eyes  the  smile  of  kindness  made 
Its  haunt,  like  flowers  by  sunny  brooks  in  May ; 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  221 

Yet  at  the  thought  of  others'  pain,  a  shade 
Of  sweeter  sadness  chased  the  smile  away. 

Nor  deem  that  when  the  hand  that  moulders  here 
Was  raised  in  menace,  realms  were  chilled  with  fear, 

And  armies  mustered  at  the  sign,  as  when 
Clouds  rise  on  clouds  before  the  rainy  east,  — 

Gray  captains  leading  bands  of  veteran  men 
And  fiery  youths  to  be  the  vultures'  feast. 
Not  thus  were  waged  the  mighty  wars  that  gave 
The  victory  to  her  who  fills  this  grave ; 
Alone  her  task  was  wrought ; 
Alone  the  battle  fought ; 
Through  that  long  strife  her  constant  hope  was  staid 
On  God  alone,  nor  looked  for  other  aid. 

She  met  the  hosts  of  sorrow  with  a  look 

That  altered  not  beneath  the  frown  they  wore ; 

And  soon  the  lowering  brood  were  tamed,  and  took 
Meekly  her  gentle  rule,  and  frowned  no  more. 

Her  soft  hand  put  aside  the  assaults  of  wrath, 
And  calmly  broke  in  twain 
The  fiery  shafts  of  pain. 

And  rent  the  nets  of  passion  from  her  path. 
By  that  victorious  hand  despair  was  slain : 

With  love  she  vanquished  hate,  and  overcame 

Evil  with  good  in  her  great  Master's  name. 

Her  glory  is  not  of  this  shadowy  state. 

Glory  that  with  the  fleeting  season  dies ; 
But  when  she  entered  at  the  sapphire  gate, 
What  joy  was  radiant  in  celestial  eyes  ! 
How  heaven's  bright  depths  with  sounding  welcomes  rung, 
And  flowers  of  heaven  by  shining  hands  were  flung ! 
And  He  who,  long  before. 
Pain,  scorn,  and  sorrow  bore, 
19* 


222  hillard's  sixth  reader.     -- 

The  mighty  Sufferer,  with  aspect  sweet, 

Smiled  on  the  timid  stranger  from  His  seat  — 

He  who,  returning  glorious  from  the  grave, 

Dragged  death,  disarmed,  in  chains,  a  crouching  slave. 

6     See,  as  I  linger  here,  the  sun  grows  low ; 

Cool  airs  are  murmuring  that  the  night  is  near. 
0  gentle  sleeper,  from  thy  grave  I  go 

Consoled,  though  sad,  in  hope,  and  yet  in  fear. 
Brief  is  the  time,  I  know, 
The  warfare  scarce  begun ; 
Yet  all  may  win  the  triumphs  thou  hast  won ; 
Still  flows  the  fount  whose  waters  strengthened  thee. 

The  victors'  names  are  yet  too  few  to  fill 
Heaven's  mighty  roll ;  the  glorious  armory 
That  ministered  to  thee  is  open  still. 


LXXIIL  —  THE    BIBLE. 

Study  how  to  be  wise ;  and  in  all  your  gettings  get 
understanding.  And  especially  would  I  urge  upon  your 
soul- wrapt  attention  that  Book  upon  which  all  feelings,  all 
opinions  are  concentrated;  which  enlightens  the  judgment, 
6  while  it  enlists  the  sentiments,  and  soothes  the  imagination 
in  songs  upon  the  harp  of  the  **  sweet  songster  of  Israel." 
The  Book  which  gives  you  a  faithful  insight  into  your 
heart,  and  consecrates  its  character  in 

*'  Shrines, 
10  Such  as  the  keen  tooth  of  time  can  never  touch." 

Would  you  know  the  effect  of  that  Book  upon  the  heart  ? 
It  purifies  its  thoughts  and  sanctifies  its  joys;  it  nerves 
and  strengthens  it  for  sorrow  and  the  mishaps  of  life ;  and 
when  these  shall  have  ended  and  the  twilight  of  death  is 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  223 

spreading  its  dew-damp  upon  tlie  wasting  features,  it  pours 
upon  the  last  glad  throb  the  bright  and  streaming  light  of 
Eternity's  morning.  Oh  !  have  you  ever  stood  beside  the 
couch  of  a  dying  saint,  when 

5  "  Without  a  sigh, 

A  change  of  feature  or  a  shaded  smile, 
He  gave  his  hand  to  the  stern  messenger, 
And  as  a  glad  child  seeks  his  father's  arms, 
Went  home  ?  " 

10  Then  you  have  seen  the  deep,  the  penetrating  influence 
of  this  Book. 

Would  you  know  its  name  ?  It  is  the  Book  of  Books 
—  its  author,  Grod  —  its  theme.  Heaven,  Eternity.  The 
Bible  !    Bead  it,  search  it.    Let  it  be  first  upon  the  shelves 

15  of  your  library,  and  first  in  the  affections  of  your  heart. 
"  Search  the  Scriptures,  for  in  them  ye  think  ye  have  eternal 
life;  and  they  are  they  which  testify  of  me."  Oh !  if  there 
be  sublimity  in  the  contemplation  of  God  —  if  there  be 
grandeur  in  the  display  of  Eternity  —  if  there  be  anything 

20  ennobling  and  purifying  in  the  revelation  of  man's  salvation, 
search  the  Scriptures,  for  they  are  they  which  testify  of 
these  things. 


LXXIV.  — G«D 

Derzhavin 


[Gabriel  Romano vitch  Derzhavix,  a  Russian  lyrical  poet,  was  born  itt 
Kasan,  July  3,  1743,  and  died  July  6,  1816.  He  gained  distinction  in  the  mili- 
tary and  civil  service  of  his  country,  and  was  made  secretary  of  state  in  1791 
by  Catharine  II.  The  following-  poem  has  been  translated,  not  only  into  many 
European  languages,  but  into  those  of  China  and  Japan.  It  is  said  to  have 
been  hung  up  in  the  palace  of  the  Emperor  of  China,  printed  in  gold  letters  on 
white  satin.  Sir  John  Bowring-,  in  his  "  Specimens  of  the  Russian  Poets," 
published  in  1821,  was  the  first  person  who  made  the  readers  of  England  and 
America  acquainted  with  the  writings  of  Derzhavin  and  other  Russian  poets.] 

1         0  THOU  eternal  One !  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide : 


224  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

Unchanged  through  time's  all  devastating  flight; 
Thou  only  God  !     There  is  no  God  beside ! 
Being  above  all  beings !    Mighty  One  ! 
Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore ; 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  Thyself  alone : 
Embracing  all,  —  supporting,  —  ruling  o'er,  — 
Being  whom  we  call  God  —  and  know  no  more  ! 

2  In  its  sublime  research,  philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean-deep  —  may  count 
The  sands  or  the  sun's  rays — but  God  !  for  Thee 
There  is  no  weight  nor  measure :  —  none  can  mount 
Up  to  thy  mysteries.     Eeason's  brightest  spark, 
Though  kindled  by  thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 
To  trace  thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark : 
And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high, 
Even  like  past  moments  in  eternity. 

3  Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 
First  chaos,  then  existence :  —  Lord !  on  thee 
Eternity  had  its  foundation  :  —  all 

Sprung  forth  from  thee :  —  of  light,  joy,  harmony, 

Sole  origin  :  —  all  life,  all  beauty  thine. 

Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create ; 

Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 

Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shalt  be  !    Glorious  !    Great ! 

Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate ! 

4  Thy  chains  the  unmeasured  universe  surround, 
Upheld  by  thee,  by  thee  inspired  with  breath  ! 
Thou  the  beginning  with  the  end  hast  bound, 
And  beautifully  mingled  life  and  deatli ! 

As  sparks  mount  upwards  from  the  fiery  blaze. 

So  suns  are  born,  so  worlds  sprung  forth  from  thee : 

And  as  the  spangles  in  the  sunny  rays 

Shine  round  the  silver  snow,  the  pageantry 

Of  heaven's  bright  army  glitters  in  thy  praise. 


hillard's  sixth  keadek.  225 

A  million  torches  lighted  by  thy  hand 
Wander  unwearied  through  the  blue  abyss : 
They  own  thy  power,  accomplish  thy  command, 
All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 
What  shall  we  call  them  ?    Piles  of  crystal  light  — 
A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams  — 
Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright  — 
Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams  ? 
But  thou  to  these  art  as  the  noon  to  night. 

Yes !  as  a  drop  of  water  in  the 'sea, 

All  this  magnificence  in  thee  is  lost : — 

What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  thee  ? 

And  what  am  /  then  ?    Heaven's  unnumbered  host, 

Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 

In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought, 

Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance ;  weighed 

Against  thy  greatness,  is  a  cipher  brought 

Against  infinity !    0,  what  am  I  then  ?    Nought ! 

Nought !  yet  the  effluence  of  thy  light  divine. 

Pervading  worlds,  hath  reached  my  bosom  too ; 

Yes !  in  my  spirit  doth  thy  spirit  shine. 

As  shines  the  sunbeam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 

Nought !  yet  I  live,  and  on  hope's  pinions  fly 

Eager  towards  thy  presence ;  for  in  thee 

I  live,  and  breathe,  and  dwell ;  aspiring  high, 

Even  to  the  throne  of  thy  divinity. 

I  am,  0  God  I  and  surely  thou  must  be ! 

Thou  art !  directing,  guiding  all,  thou  art ! 
Direct  my  understanding,  then,  to  thee  ; 
Control  my  spirit,  guide  my  wandering  heart: 
Though  but  an  atom  midst  immensity, 
Still  I  am  something,  fashioned  by  thy  hand ! 
I  hold  a  middle  rank  'twixt  heaven  and  earth, 
On  the  last  verge  of  mortal  being  stand, 


22Q  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Close  to  the  realms  where  angels  have  their  birth, 
Just  on  the  boundaries  of  the  spirit-land ! 

9     The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me ; 
In  me  is  matter's  last  gradation  lost, 
And  the  next  step  is  spirit — Deity  ! 
I  can  command  the  lightning,  and  am  dust  I 
A  monarch,  and  a  slave ;  a  worm,  a  god ! 
Whence  came  I  here  ?  and  how  so  marvellously 
Constructed  and  conceived  ?  unknown !  this  clod 
Lives  surely  through  some  higher  eneigy ; 
For  from  itself  alone  it  could  not  be  ! 

10  Creator,  yes !  thy  wisdom  and  thy  word 
Created  me  !  thou  source  of  life  and  good  I 
Thou  spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord  I 
Thy  light,  thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude 
Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
Over  the  abyss  of  death,  and  bade  it  wear 
The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 

Its  heavenly  flight  beyond  this  little  sphere. 
Even  to  its  source  —  to  thee  —  its  Author  there. 

11  0  thoughts  ineffable !  0  visions  blest ! 
Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  thee, 
Yet  shall  thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 
And  waft  its  homage  to  thy  Deity. 

God !  thus  alone  my  lonely  thoughts  can  soar ; 
Thus  seek  thy  presence.  Being  wise  and  good ! 
Midst  thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore  ; 
And  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more, 
The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.>  227 

LXXY.  — THE    INTE®DUCTION    ©F    CHKISTIANITY 
INT#  EUKf  PE. 

IDE. 

[George  B.  Ide,  D.  D.,  is  a  native  of  Vermont,  and  a  graduate  of  Middle- 
bury  College  in  that  State.  He  has  been  for  some  years  pastor  of  the  First  Bap- 
tist Ch.  in  Spring-fleld,  Mass.  His  sermons,  many  of  which  have  been  printed, 
are  marked  by  vigor  of  expression  and  a  fertile  fancy.  He  has  written  several 
popular  hymns,  and  is  the  author  of  *'  Green  Hollow,  or  the  Power  of  Kind- 
ness," a  story  of  real  life. 

Troas  was  a  region  in  the  northwest  part  of  Asia  Minor,  ruled  over  by  the 
ancient  kings  of  Ilium,  or  Troy,  a  famous  city  taken  by  the  Greeks  under  com- 
mand of  Agamemnon.  Tenedos  is  a  small  island  off  the  coast  of  Troas.  Phi- 
lippi  was  a  town  in  Macedonia,  in  the  northern  part  of  Greece.  lUyricum,  now 
lUyria,  is  a  country  lying  on  the  east  coast  of  the  Adriatic] 

At  tlie  port  of  Troas,  a  spot  rich  in  memories  of  the  olden 
time,  with  the  ruins  of  Ilium  in  the  distance,  and  the 
classic  waves  of  the  iEgean  breaking  at  their  feet,  were 
now  assembled  Paul,  Silas,  Timothy,  and  Luke  —  four 
5  obscure  and  unknown  voyagers,  but  bound  on  a  mightier 
mission  than  had  ever  before  been  wafted  over  these  far- 
famed  waters. 

Across  the  narrow  strait  on  which  they  gazed,  the  ships 
of  Greece  had  come  to  the  siege  of  Troy,  and  full  in  their 
10  view  lay  the  renowned  Tenedos.  Along  the  very  coast  where 
they  stood,  the  myriads  of  Xerxes  had  proudly  marched, 
while  his  fleet  covered  the  sea.  And,  in  later  days,  the 
same  isle-gemmed  billows  had  been  ploughed  by  many  a 
Koman  galley,  exulting  in  the  pomp  of  victory.  But  never 
15  had  they  borne  a  freight  so  precious,  or  one  charged  with 
such  vast  results  as  that  which  was  now  to  be  committed 
to  their  keeping. 

A  lowly  bark,  whose  name  no  historian  has  recorded, 
and  no  poet  has  sung,  puts  forth  from  the  haven  and  wooes 
20  the  favoring  breeze.  No  sound  of  trumpet  announces  its 
departure ;  no  shouting  multitudes  cheer  it  on  its  way ;  no 
banners  floating  from  its  masts  proclaim  the  greatness  of 
its  embassy.  And  yet  it  bears  destinies  more  grand  than 
those  of  Agamemnon  or  Alexander. 


228  hillard's  sixth  reader.   - 

On  its  deck,  in  the  persons  of  those  toil-worn  and  unre- 
garded wayfarers,  stand  the  messengers  of  the  living  God  ; 
and  in  the  simple  doctrine  of  a  crucified  Christ,  which  they 
go  to  publish,  there  resides  an  all-conquering  power,  which 
5  shall  prostrate  the  idolatry  of  Greece,  silence  its  oracles, 
confound  its  philosophy,  and  pour  upon  its  population  the 
beams  of  heavenly  truth ;  and  which,  spreading  that  truth 
to  the  farthest  regions  of  the  West,  shall  elevate  its  bar- 
barian hordes  to  the  pinnacle  of  civilization,  and  render 

10  them  centres  of  intellectual  and  moral  light  to  the  again 
darkened  East. 

Speeded  by  propitious  gales,  the  little  craft  reaches  its 
destination.  Paul  treads  the  heroic  soil  of  Macedon,  and 
begins,  at  Philippi,  that  series  of  evangelical  conflicts  and 

15  successes,  in  which,  through  all  the  provinces  of  Greece, 
from  Corinth  to  lUyricum,  he  "fully  preached  the  gospel 
of  Christ." 


LXXVL-^W^LSEY   AND    CROMWELL. 

Shakspeake. 
[The  following  scene  is  taken  from  the  historical  play  of  "King  Henry 
VIII."  Cardinal  "Wolsey  had  been  prime  minister  of  England,  the  possessor 
of  enormous  wealth  and  unbounded  power,  but,  in  losing  the  favor  of  the 
king,  had  lost  all.  Cromwell  was  a  friend  and  member  of  his  household,  who 
remained  faithful  to  his  benefactor  in  his  fallen  fortunes.] 

WoL.    Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness  I 
This  is  the  state  of  man :  To-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hopes  ;  to-morrow  blossoms. 
And  bears  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him  ; 
5   The  third  day,  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost, 

And  —  when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a-ripening  —  nips  his  root ; 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventured, 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
10  This  many  summers,  in  a  sea  of  glory  ; 

But  far  beyond  my  depth  :  my  high-blown  pride 


hillaed's  sixth  readee.  229 

At  length  broke  under  me,  and  now  has  left  me, 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  forever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye  ; 
5  I  feel  my  heart  new  opened.     0,  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favors ! 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin,"' 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have ; 
10  And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again.  — 

Enter  Cromwell,  amazedly. 

Why,  how  now,  Cromwell  ? 
Crom.    I  have  no  power  to  speak,  sir. 
15      WoL.  What,  amazed 

At  my  misfortunes  ?     Can  thy  spirit  wonder 

A  great  man  should  decline  ?     Nay,  an  you  weep 

I  am  fallen  indeed. 

Crom.  How  does  your  grace  ? 

20      WoL.  Why,  well ; 

Never  so  truly  happy,  my  good  Cromwell. 

I  know  myself  now  ;  and  I  feel  within  me 

A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 

A  still  and  quiet  conscience.     The  king  has  cured  me,  — 
25  1  humbly  thank  his  grace,  —  and  from  these  shoulders. 

These  ruined  pillars,  out  of  pity,  taken 

A  load  would  sink  a  navy —  too  much  honor. 

0,  't  is  a  burden,  Cromwell,  't  is  a  burden, 

Too  heavy  for  a  man  that  hopes  for  heaven. 
30,      Crom.  I  am  glad  your  grace  has  made  that  right  use  of  it 
WoL.  I  hope  I  have.     I  am  able  now,  methinks, 

(Out  of  a  fortitude  of  soul  I  feel,) 

To  endure  more  miseries,  and  greater  far, 

*  That  is,  the  ruiu  which  princes  inflict. 
20 


230  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Than  my  weak-hearted  enemies  dare  offer. 
"What  news  abroad  ? 

Crom.  The  heaviest,  and  the  worst, 

Is  your  displeasure  with  the  king. 
5       WoL.  God  bless  him ! 

Crom.    The  next  is,  that  Sir  Thomas  More  is  chosen 
Lord  chancellor,  in  your  place. 

WoL.  That 's  somewhat  sudden ; 

But  he 's  a  learned  man.     May  he  continue 
10  Long  in  his  highness's  favor,  and  do  justice 

For  truth's  sake,  and  his  conscience ;  that  his  bones, 
When  he  has  run  his  course,  and  sleeps  in  blessings. 
May  have  a  tomb  of  orphans'  tears  wept  on  'em  ! 
What  more  ? 
15       Crom.  That  Cranmer  is  returned  with  welcome, 

Installed  lord  archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
WoL.  That 's  news,  indeed. 

Crom.  Last,  that  the  Lady  Anne,** 

Whom  the  king  hath  in  secrecy  long  married, 
20  This  day  was  viewed  in  open,  as  his  queen. 
Going  to  chapel ;  and  the  voice  is  now 
Only  about  her  coronation. 

WoL.    There  was  the  weight  that  pulled  me  down !     O 
Cromwell, 
25  The  king  has  gone  beyond  me  ;  all  my  glories 
In  that  one  woman  I  have  lost  forever. 
No  sun  shall  ever  usher  forth  mine  honors. 
Or  gild  again  the  noble  troops  that  waited 
Upon  my  smiles.     Go,  get  thee  from  me,  Cromwell  j 
30  I  am  a  poor,  fallen  man,  unworthy  now 
To  be  thy  lord  and  master.     Seek  the  king : 
That  sun,  I  pray,  may  never  set !     I  have  told  him 
What,  and  how  true  thou  art ;  he  will  advance  thee ; 
Some  little  memory  of  me  will  stir  him 

*  Anne  Bolejm,  the  second  wife  of  King  Henry  VIII 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  231 

(I  know  his  noble  nature)  not  to  let 

Thy  hopeful  service  perish  too.     Good  Cromwell, 

Neglect  him  not ;  make  use  now,  and  provide 

Tor  thine  own  future  safety. 
5       Crom.  0  my  lord, 

Must  I  then  leave  you  ?     Must  I  needs  forego 

So  good,  so  noble,  and  so  true  a  master  ? 

Bear  witness,  all  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron, 

"With  what  a  sorrow  Cromwell  leaves  his  lord. 
10   The  king  shall  have  my  service  ;  but  my  prayers 

Forever,  and  forever,  shall  be  yours. 

"WoL.    Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 

In  all  my  miseries ;  but  thou  hast  forced  me, 

Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 
16  Let 's  dry  our  eyes  ;  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 

And,  —  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be. 

And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 

Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of,  —  say,  I  taught  thee ; 

Say,  Wolsey  —  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 
20   And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor -^ 

Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in ; 

A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  missed  it, 

Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruined  me. 

Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition : 
25    By  that  sin  fell  the  angels :  how  can  man,  then, 

The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  't  ? 

Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee ; 

Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty : 

Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 
30   To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not. 

Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 

Thy  God's,  and  truth's ;  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  0  Cromwell, 

Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr  !     Serve  the  king ; 

And Prithee,  lead  me  in : 

35    There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have, 

To  the  last  penny  ;  't  is  the  king's  ;  my  robe, 


2B2 


And  my  integrity  to  Heaven,  is  all 

I  dare  now  call  mine  own.     0  Cromwell,  Cromwell, 

Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 

I  served  my  king,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 

Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 

Crom.    Good  sir,  have  patience. 

"WoL.  So  I  have.    Farewell 

The  hopes  of  court !  my  hopes  in  heaven  do  dwell. 


LXXVIL  — THE  DEAF  MAN'S  GEAVE. 

Wo  KDS  WORTH. 

[William  Wordsworth  was  bom  at  Cockermouth,  in  the  county  of  Cum- 
T)erland,  England,  April  7,  1770,  and  died  April  23,  1850.  His  life  was  passed 
for  the  most  part  in  that  beautiful  region  of  England  where  he  was  born,  and 
with  which  so  much  of  his  poetry  is  inseparably  associated.  He  made  his  first 
appearance  as  an  author  in  1793,  by  the  publication  of  a  thin  quarto  volume  of 
poems,  which  did  not  attract  much  attention.  Indeed,  for  many  years  his 
poetry  made  little  impression  on  the  general  public,  and  that  not  of  a  favora- 
ble kind.  The  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  —  the  great  authority  in  matters  of  lit- 
erary taste  —  set  its  face  against  him;  and  Wordsworth's  own  style  and  man- 
ner were  so  peculiar,  and  so  unlike  those  of  the  poetry  which  was  popular  at 
the  time,  that  he  was  obliged  to  create  the  taste  by  which  he  himself  was 
judged.  As  time  went  on,  his  influence  and  popularity  increased,  and  many 
years  before  his  death  he  enjoyed  a  fame  and  consideration  which  in  its  calm- 
ness and  serenity  resembled  the  unbiassed  judgment  of  posterity. 

Wordsworth's  popularity  has  never  been  of  that  comprehensive  kind  which 
Scott  and  liyron  possessed.  He  had  many  intense  admirers ;  but  there  were 
also  many  who  were  insensible  to  his  claims,  and  many  who  admired  him  only 
with  qualifications  and  limitations.  He  is  often  cold,  languid,  and  prosaic. 
He  is  deficient  in  the  power  of  presenting  pictures.  He  often  attempts  to 
give  poetical  interest  to  themes  which  lie  entirely  out  of  the  domain  of  poetry. 
He  has  no  humor,  and  no  sense  of  the  ludicrous  ;  and  many  of  his  poems  are 
obnoxious  to  the  attack  of  ridicule. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  very  great  and  enduring  excellences.  Among 
these  are  most  careful  precision  and  accuracy  of  diction,  a  minute  acquaintance 
and  deep  sympathy  with  nature,  power  and  tenderness  in  the  expression  of 
the  domestic  affections,  a  philosophical  insight  into  the  workings  of  the  human 
soul,  lofty  dignity  of  sentiment,  and  in  his  best  passages,  a  serene,  imaginative 
grandeur  akin  to  that  of  Milton. 

Wordsworth's  character  was  pure  and  high.  He  was  reserved  in  manner, 
and  somewhat  exclusive  in  his  tastes  and  sympathies ;  but  his  friends  were 
warmly  attached  to  him.    His  domestic  affections  were  strong  and  deep. 

His  life  has  been  published,  since  his  decease,  by  his  nephew,  the  Rev.  Chris- 
topher Wordsworth,  and  republished  in  this  country.    In  Coleridge's  "Biog- 


IIILLAED'S    sixth   KEADEIl.  233 

raphia  TJtpraria,"  there  is  an  admirable  review  of  his  poetical  genius,  in  which 
praise  is  bestowed  generously  and  discriminatingly,  and  defects  are  pointed 
out  with  a  loving-  and  reverent  hand. 

The  following  extract  is  from  the  seventh  book  of  "  The  Excursion,"  a  de- 
Bcriptive  and  philosophical  poem  in  twelve  books.] 

1  Almost  at  the  root 
Of  that  tall  pine,  the  shadow  of  whose  bare 
And  slender  stem,  while  here  I  sit  at  eve, 

Oft  stretches  towards  me  like  a  long  straight  path, 
Traced  faintly  in  the  greensward  ;  there,  beneath 
A  plain  blue  stone,  a  gentle  dalesman  lies, 
From  whom,  in  early  childhood,  was  withdrawn 
The  precious  gift  of  hearing. 

2  He  grew  up 
Prom  year  to  year  in  loneliness  of  soul  ; 
And  this  deep  mountain  valley  was  to  him 
Soundless  with  all  its  streams.     The  bird  of  dawn 
Did  never  rouse  this  cottager  from  sleep 

With  startling  summons  :  not  for  his  delight 
The  vernal  cuckoo  shouted ;  not  for  him 
Murmured  the  laboring  bee.     When  stormy  winds 
Were  working  the  broad  bosom  of  the  lake 
Into  a  thousand  thousand  sparkling  waves, 
Booking  the  trees,  and  driving  cloud  on  cloud, 
Along  the  sharp  edge  of  yon  lofty  crags, 
The  agitated  scene  before  his  eye 
Was  silent  as  a  picture :  evermore 
Were  all  things  silent  wheresoe'er  he  moved/ 

3  Yet,  by  the  solace  of  his  own  pure  thoughts' 
Upheld,  he  duteously  pursued  the  round 

Of  rural  labors  ;  the  steep  mountain-side 
Ascended  with  his  staff  and  faithful  dog ;  • 
The  plough  he  guided,  and  the  scythe  he  swayed  7^ 
And  the  ripe  corn  before  his  sickle  fell 
Among  the  jocund  reapers.     For  himself, 
20* 


^4  HILLARD's   sixth  REM)E«. 

All  watchful  and  industrious  as  he  was, 
He  wrought  not ;  neither  field  nor  flock  he  owned : 
No  wish  for  wealth  had  place  within  his  mind ; 
Nor  husband's  love,  nor  father's  hope  or  care. 

4  Though  bom  a  younger  brother,  need  was  none 
That  from  the  floor  of  his  paternal  home 
He  should  depart,  to  plant  himself  anew. 
And  when,  mature  in  manhood,  he  beheld 
His  parents  laid  in  earth,  no  loss  ensued 
Of  rights  to  him ;  but  he  remained  well  pleased, 
By  the  pure  bond  of  independent  love, 
An  inmate  of  a  second  family. 
The  fellow  laborer  and  friend  of  him 
To  whom  the  small  inheritance  had  fallen. 

6         Nor  deem  that  his  mild  presence  was  a  weight 
That  pressed  upon  his  brother's  house  ;  for  books 
Were  ready  comrades  whom  he  could  not  tire,  — 
Of  whose  society  the  blameless  man 
Was  never  satiate.     Their  familiar  voice, 
Even  to  old  age,  with  unabated  charm 
Beguiled  his  leisure  hours  ;  refreshed  his  thoughts ; 
Beyond  its  natural  elevation  raised 
His  introverted  spirit ;  and  bestowed 
Upon  his  life  an  outward  dignity 
Which  all  acknowledged.     The  dark  winter  night, 
The  stormy  day,  had  each  its  own  resource  — 
Song  of  the  muses,  sage  historic  tale, 
Science  severe,  or  word  of  holy  writ 
Announcing  immortality  and  joy 
To  the  assembled  spirits  of  the  just. 
Prom  imperfection  and  decay  secure. 

6         Thus  soothed  at  home,  thus  busy  in  the  field, 
To  no  perverse  suspicion  he  gave  way, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  235 

Ko  languor,  peevishness,  nor  vain  complaint : 

And  they  who  were  about  him  did  not  fail  ^ 

In  reverence,  or  in  courtesy ;  they  prized 

His  gentle  manners  ;  and  his  peaceful  smiles, 

The  gleams  of  his  slow- varying  countenance, 

Were  met  with  answering  sympathy  and  love. 

At  length,  when  sixty  years  and  five  were  told, 
A  slow  disease  insensibly  consumed 
The  powers  of  nature ;  and  a  few  short  steps 
Of  friends  and  kindred  bore  him  from  his  home 
(Yon  cottage  shaded  by  the  woody  crags) 
To  the  profounder  stillness  of  the  grave. 
Nor  was  his  funeral  denied  the  grace 
Of  many  tears,  virtuous  and  thoughtful  grief. 
Heart-sorrow  rendered  sweet  by  gratitude. 

And  now  that  monumental  stone  preserves 
His  name,  and  unambitiously  relates 
How  long,  and  by  what  kindly  outward  aids, 
And  in  what  pure  contentedness  of  mind. 
The  sad  privation  was  by  him  endured. 
And  yon  tall  pine-tree,  whose  composing  sound 
"Was  wasted  on  the  good  man's  living  ear, 
Hath  now  its  own  peculiar  sanctity ; 
And,  at  the  touch  of  every  wandering  breeze, 
Murmurs,  not  idly,  o'er  his  peaceful  grave. 


LXXYIIL— FEMALE   EDUCATION. 

Everett. 
[From  an  address  at  the  dedication  of  the  Everett  School  House,  Boston, 
September  17,  18G0.] 

The  school-house,  whose  dedication  we  are  assembled  to 
witness,  is  for  the  accommodation  of  a  girls'  school ;  and  this 
circumstance  seems  to  invite  a  few  words  on  female  educa- 


236  iiillard's  sixth  reader. 

tion.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  discussion  at  the  present  day 
on  the  subject  of  Women's  Eights.  No  one  would  be  willing 
to  allow  that  he  wished  to  deprive  them  of  their  rights, 
and  the  only  difficulty  seems  to  be  to  settle  what  their 
5  rights  are.  The  citizens  of  Boston,  acting  by  their  munici- 
pal representatives,  have  long  since  undertaken  to  answer 
this  question  in  a  practical  way  (always  better  than  a 
metaphysical  solution  of  such  questions),  as  far  as  a  city 
government  can  do  it,  by  admitting  the  right  of  the  girls 

10  to  have,  at  the  public  expense,  as  good  an  education  as  the 
boys.  It  is  not  in  the  power  of  the  city  to  amend  our  con- 
stitutions, if  amendment  it  would  be,  so  as  to  extend  polit- 
ical privileges  to  the  gentler  sex,  nor  to  alter  the  legislation 
which  regulates  the  rights  of  property.     But  it  was  in  the 

15  power  of  the  city  to  withhold  or  to  grant  equal  privileges 
of  education ;  and  it  has  decided  that  the  free  grammar 
schools  of  Boston  should  be  open  alike  to  boys  and  girls. 

This  seems  to  me  not  only  a  recognition,  at  the  outset, 
of  the  most  important  of  Women's  Eights  —  equal  partici- 

20  pation  in  these  institutions  —  but  the  best  guaranty  that, 
if  in  anything  else  the  sex  is  unjustly  or  unfairly  dealt 
with,  the  remedy  will  come  in  due  time.  AVith  the  ac- 
knowledged equality  of  woman  in  general  intellectual  en- 
dowments, though  tending  in  either  sex  to  an  appropriate 

25  development ;  with  her  admitted  superiority  to  man  in  tact, 
sensibility,  physical  and  moral  endurance,  quickness  of  per- 
ception, and  power  of  accommodation  to  circumstances,  — 
give  her  for  two  or  three  generations  equal  advantages 
of  mental  culture,  and  the  lords  of  creation,  as  you,  Mr. 

30  Chairman,  have  called  them,  will  have  to  carry  more  guns 
than  they  do  at  present,  to  keep  her  out  of  the  enjoyment 
of  anything,  which  sound  reasoning  and  fair  experiment 
shall  show  to  be  of  her  rights. 

I  have,  however,  strong  doubts,  whether,  tried  by  this 

35  test,  the  result  would  be  a  participation  in  the  performance 
of  the  political  duties  which  the  experience  of  the  human 


iiillard's  sixth  readek.  237 

race,  in  all  ages,  has  nearly  confined  to  the  coarser  sex. 
I  do  not  rest  this  opinion  solely  on  the  fact  that  those 
duties  do  not  seem  congenial  with  the  superior  delicacy  of 
women,  or  compatible  with  the  occupations  which  nature 
5  assigns  to  her  in  the  domestic  sphere.  I  think  it  would 
be  found,  on  trial,  that  nothing  would  be^  gained,  nothing 
changed  for  the  better,  by  putting  the  sexes  on  the  same 
footing,  with  respect,  for  instance,  to  the  right  of  suffrage. 
Whether  the  wives  and  sisters  agreed  with  the  husbands 

10  and  brothers,  or  differed  from  them,  as  this  agreement  or 
difference  would,  in  the  long  run,  exist  equally  in  all  par- 
ties, the  result  would  be  the  same  as  at  present.  So  too, 
whether  the  wife  or  the  husband  had  the  stronger  will,  and 
so  dictated  the  other's  vote,  as  this  also  would  be  the  same, 

15  on  all  sides,  the  result  would  not  be  affected.  So  that  it 
would  be  likely  to  turn  out  that  the  present  arrangement, 
by  which  the  men  do  the  electioneering  and  the  voting  for 
both  sexes,  is  a  species  of  representation,  which,  leaving 
results  unchanged,  promotes  the  convenience  of  all,  and 

20  does  injustice  to  none. 

Meantime,  for  all  the  great  desirable  objects  of  life,  the 

possession  of  equal  advantages  for  the  improvement  of  the 

.  mind  is  of  vastly  greater  importance  than  the  participation 

of  political  power.     There  are,  humanly  speaking,  three 

25  great  objects  of  pursuit  on  earth,  —  well-being  or  happi- 
ness for  ourselves  and  families ;  influence  and  control  over 
others;  and  a  good  name  with  our  fellow-men,  while  we 
live  and  when  we  are  gone.  Who  needs  be  told  that,  in 
the  present  state  of  the  world,  a  good  education  is  not 

30  indeed  a  sure,  but  by  far  the  most  likely  means  of  attain- 
ing all  the  ends  which  constitute  material  prosperity,  com- 
petence, position,  establishment  in  life ;  and  that  it  also 
opens  the  purest  sources  of  enjoyment  ? 

The  happiest  condition  of  human  existence  is  unques- 

35  tionably  to  be  found  in  the  domestic  circle  of  what  may  be 
called  the  middle  condition  of  life,  in  a  family  harmoni- 


238  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

ously  united  in  the  cultivation  and  enjoyment  of  the  inno- 
cent and  rational  pleasures  of  literature,  art,  and  refined 
intercourse,  equally  removed  from  the  grandeurs  and  the 
straits  of  society.  These  innocent  and  rational  pleasures, 
5  and  this  solid  happiness,  are  made  equally  accessible  to  both 
sexes  by  our  admirable  school  system. 

Then  for  influence  over  others,  as  it  depends  much  more 
on  personal  qualities  than  on  official  prerogative,  equality 
of  education  furnishes  the  amplest  means  of  equal  ascen- 

10  dency.  It  is  the  mental  and  moral  forces,  not  political 
power,  which  mainly  govern  the  world.  It  is  but  a  few 
years  since  the  three  greatest  powers  in  Europe,  two  on 
one  side  and  one  on  the  other,  engaged  in  a  deadly  struggle 
with  each  other  to  decide  the  fate  of  the  Turkish  empire ; 

15  three  Christian  powers  straining  every  nerve,  the  one  to 
overthrow,  the  two  others  to  uphold  the  once  great  and 
formidable,  but  now  decaying  and  eflfete  Mahommedan  des- 
potism of  Western  Asia. 

Not  less  than  half  a  million  of  men  were  concentrated 

20  in  the  Crimea,  and  all  the  military  talent  of  the  age  was 
called  forth  in  the  contest.  And  who,  as  far  as  individuals 
were  concerned,  bore  ofi*  the  acknowledged  palm  of  energy, 
usefulness,  and  real  power  in  that  tremendous  contest  ? 
Not  emperors  and  kings,  not  generals,  admirals,  or  engi- 

25  neers,  launching  from  impregnable  fortresses  and  blazing 
intrenchments  the  three-bolted  thunders  of  war.  No,  but 
an  English  girl,  bred  up  in  the  privacy  of  domestic  life, 
and  appearing  on  that  dread  stage  of  human  action  and 
suJBFering,  in  no  higher  character  than  that  of  a  nurse ! 

30  And  then  for  fame,  to  which,  by  a  natural  instinct,  the 
ingenuous  soul  aspires : 

"  The  spur,  which  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise, 
(The  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds,) 
To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days—  " 

need  I  say  that  the  surest  path  to  a  reputation,  for  the 


iiillard's  sixth  reader.  239 

mass  of  mankind,  is  by  intellectual  improvement ;  and 
that  in  this  respect,  therefore,  our  school  system  places  the 
sexes  on  an  equality  ? 


LXXIX.  — THE   BUEIAL   OF    SIE   JOHN   MOOEE. 
Wolfe. 

[Charles  Wolfe  was  born  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  December  14,  1791,  and 
died  February  21,  1823.  He  was  a  clergyman  of  the  established  church.  His 
"Kemains,"  consisting  of  sermons,  fragments,  and  poems,  were  published 
arter  his  death,  with  a  memoir. 

Sir  John  Moore  was  killed  at  Corunna,  in  Spain,  in  a  battle  between  the 
French  and  English,  January  16,  1809.  He  was  wrapped  in  his  military  cloak, 
and  buried  by  torch-light  in  a  hasty  grave  on  the  ramparts  of  the  town.  A 
monument  has  since  been  erected  upon  the  spot.] 

1  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 

As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried ; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

2  We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning  ; 
By  the  struggling  moon-beam's  misty  light, 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

3  No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Nor  in  sheet,  nor  in  shroud,  we  wound  him ; 
But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

4  Few,  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said ; 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow ; 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead ; 
And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

6-   "We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow. 
That  the  foe,  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  head ; 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow. 


240  hillard's  sixth  reader, 

6  Lightly  tliey  '11  talk  of  the  spirit  that 's  gone, 

And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him  ; 
But  little  he  '11  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

7  But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done, 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring  ; 
And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  tlie  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

8  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory : 
We  carved  not  a  line,  —  we  raised  not  a  stone. 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 


LXXX.  — THE   LAUNCHING   OF   THE    SHIP. 

LONGFELLOAV. 

1  All  is  finished,  and  at  length 
Has  come  the  bridal  day 

Of  beauty  and  of  strength. 

To-day  the  vessel  shall  be  launched  I 

With  fleecy  clouds  the  sky  is  blanched. 

And  o'er  the  bay, 

Slowly,  in  all  his  splendors  dight, 

The  great  sun  rises  to  behold  the  sight. 

2  The  ocean  old, 
Centuries  old, 

Strong  as  youth,  and  as  uncontrolled. 
Paces  restless  to  and  fro, 
Up  and  down  the  sands  of  gold. 
His  beating  heart  is  not  at  rest ; 


hillard's  sixth  header.  241 

And  far  and  wide 

With  ceaseless  flow 

His  beard  of  snow 

Heaves  with  the  heaving  of  his  breast. 

He  waits  impatient  for  his  bride. 

There  she  stands, 

With  her  foot  upon  the  sands, 

Decked  with  flags  and  streamers  gay, 

In  honor  of  her  marriage-day, 

Her  snow-white  signals  fluttering,  blending, 

Eound  her  like  a  veil  descending, 

Eeady  to  be 

The  bride  of  the  gray  old  sea. 

Then  the  Master, 

With  a  gesture  of  command, 

Waved  his  hand ; 

And  at  the  word, 

Loud  and  sudden  there  was  heard. 

All  around  them  and  below. 

The  sound  of  hammers,  blow  on  blow. 

Knocking  away  the  shores  and  spurs. 

And  see  !  she  stirs  ! 

She  starts,  —  she  moves,  —  she  seems  to  feel 

The  thrill  of  life  along  her  keel, 

And,  spurning  with  her  foot  the  ground. 

With  one  exulting,  joyous  bound. 

She  leaps  into  the  ocean's  arms. 

And  lo  !  from  the  assembled  crowd 

There  rose  a  shout,  prolonged  and  loud. 

That  to  the  ocean  seemed  to  say, 

**  Take  her,  0  bridegroom,  old  and  gray ; 

Take  her  to  thy  protecting  arms, 

With  all  her  youth  and  all  her  charms." 


242  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

6  How  beautiful  she  is !  bow  fair 

She  lies  within  those  arms,  that  press 

Her  form  with  many  a  soft  caress 

Of  tenderness  and  watchful  care  ! 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea,  0  ship  ! 

Through  wind  and  wave,  right  onward  steer  I 

The  moistened  eye,  the  trembling  lip, 

Are  not  the  signs  of  doubt  or  fear. 

7  Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life, 
0  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife, 
And  safe  from  all  adversity, 
Upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea 
Thy  comings  and  thy  goings  be ! 
For  gentleness,  and  love,  and  trust, 
Prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust ; 
And  in  the  wreck  of  noble  lives 
Something  immortal  still  survives  ! 

8  Thou,  too,  sail  on,  0  Ship  of  State ! 
Sail  on,  0  Union,  strong  and  great ! 
Humanity,  with  all  its  fears. 
With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate  ! 
"We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 
What  workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel. 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat. 
In  what  a  forge,  and  what  a  heat. 

Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope. 

9  Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock ; 
'T  is  of  the  wave,  and  not  the  rock  ; 

'T  is  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 
And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale. 
In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest  roar, 
In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  243 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea. 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee: 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee  —  are  all  with  thee. 


LXXXL  — THE    KOMAN    EMPIKE   A    PKEPAEATIOllT 

EOE   CHEISTIANITY. 

Wayland. 

[Francis  Wayland  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  March  11, 1796,  and 
was  graduated  at  Union  College  in  1813.  In  1821  he  was  settled  over  the  First 
Baptist  Church  in  Boston,  was  elected  president  of  Brown  University,  in 
Rhode  Island,  in  1826,  and  held  that  office  till  1855.  He  has  published  various 
sermons,  a  treatise  on  "  Political  Economy,"  the  "  Elements  of  Moral  Science," 
and  several  occasional  discourses.  He  has  a  vigorous  and  logical  mind,  and 
writes  with  clearness  and  energy.  He  has  a  wide  range  and  strong  grasp  of 
thought,  and  a  power  both  of  intellectual  construction  and  analysis.  His  deep 
religious  convictions,  and  his  sensibility  to  moral  beauty,  save  his  writings 
from  the  dryness  which  is  apt  to  characterize  the  productions  of  minds  of  so 
much  log-ical  acuteness. 

The  following  extract  is  from  one  of  his  sermons.] 

One  other  condition  remains  yet  to  be  observed.  You 
well  know  that  the  nations  inhabiting  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean  were  originally  distinct  in  government,  dis- 
similar in  origin,  diverse  in  laws,  habits,  and  usages,  and 
5  almost  perpetually  at  war.  To  pass  from  one  to  the  other 
without  incurring  the  risk  of  injury,  nay,  even  of  being 
sold  into  slavery,  was  almost  impossible.  A  stranger  and 
an  enemy  were  designated  by  the  same  word. 

Beginning  with  Spain,  and  passing  through  Gaul,  Ger- 

10  many,  Italy,  Greece,  Asia  Minor,  Syria,  Palestine,  Egypt, 
and  Carthage,  until  you  arrive  again  at  the  Pillars  of 
Hercules,  every  state  was  most  commonly  the  enemy  of 
every  other.  It  was  necessary  that  these  various  peoples 
should  all  be  moulded  by  the  same  pressure  into  one  com- 

15  mon  form;  that  one  system  of  laws  should  bind  them  all 
in  harmony;  and  that,  under  one  common  protection,  a 


£44  hillaed's  sixth  reader 

citizen  miglit  be  able  to  pass  through  all  of  them  in  secu- 
rity. This  seems  to  have  been  needful  in  order  that  the  new 
religion  might  be  rapidly  and  extensively  promulgated. 
In  order  to  accomplish  this  purpose,  as  I  suppose,  was 
5  the  Koman  empire  raised  up,  and  entrusted  with  the  scep- 
tre of  universal  dominion.  Commencing  with  a  feeble 
colony  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  she  gradually,  by  con- 
quest and  conciliation,  incorporated  with  herself  the  many 
warlike  tribes  of  ancient  Italy.     In  her  very  youth,  after 

10  a  death  struggle  of  more  than  a  century,  she  laid  Car- 
thage, the  former  mistress  of  the  Mediterranean,  lifeless  at 
her  feet. 

From  this  era  she  paused  not  a  moment  in  her  career  of 
universal  conquest.     Nation  after  nation  submitted  to  her 

15  sway.  Army  after  army  was  scattered  before  her  legions, 
like  the  dust  of  the  summer  threshing-floor.  Her  pro- 
consuls sat  enthroned  in  regal  state  in  every  city  of  the 
civilized  world  ;  and  the  barbarian  mother,  clasping  her 

20  infant  to  her  bosom,  fled  'to  the  remotest  fastnesses  of  the 
wilderness,  when  she  saw,  far  off  in  the  distance,  the  sun- 
beams glittering  upon  the  eagles  of  the  republic. 

Far  different,  however,  were  the  victories  of  Eome  from 
those  of  Alexander.  The  Macedonian  soldier  thought 
mainly  of  battles  and  sieges,  the  clash  of  onset,  the  flight 

25  of  satraps,  and  the  subjugation  of  kings.  He  overran ; 
the  Eomans  always  conquered.  Every  vanquished  nation 
became,  in  turn,  a  part  of  the  Eoman  empire.  A  large 
portion  of  every  conquered  people  was  admitted  to  the 
rights  of  citizenship.     The  laws  of  the  republic  threw  over 

30  the  conquered  the  shield  of  her  protection.  Eome  may,  it 
is  true,  have  oppressed  them ;  but  then  she  delivered  them 
from  the  capricious  and  more  intolerable  oppression  of 
their  native  rulers.  Hence  her  conquests  really  marked 
the  progress  of  civilization,  and  extended  in  all  directions 

35  the  limits  of  universal  brotherhood. 

The  Eoman  citizen  was  free  throuo;hout  the  civilized 


iiillahd's  sixth  reader.  245 

world ;  everywhere  he  might  appeal  to  her  laws,  and  repose 
in  security  under  the  shadow  of  her  universal  power.  Thus 
the  declaration,  "  Ye  have  beaten  us  openly,  and  uncon- 
demned,  being  Eomans,"  brought  the  magistrates  of  Phi- 
5  lippi  suppliants  at  the  feet  of  the  apostle  Paul ;  his  ques- 
tion, "  Is  it  lawful  for  you  to  scourge  a  man  that  is  a  Eo- 
man,  and  uncondemned  ?  "  palsied  the  hands  of  the  lictors 
at  Jerusalem ;  and  the  simple  words,  "  I  appeal  unto 
Caesar,"  removed  his  cause  from  the  jurisdiction  even  of 

10  the  proconsul  at  Csesarea,  and  carried  it  at  once  into  the 
presence  of  the  emperor. 

You  cannot  but  perceive  that  this  universal  domination 
of  a  single  civilized  power  must  have  presented  great  facil- 
ities for  the  promulgation  of  the  gospel.     In  many  respects 

15  it  resembled  the  dominion  of  Great  Britain  at  the  present 
day  in  Asia.  Wherever  her  red  cross  floats,  there  the  lib- 
erty of  man  is,  to  a  great  extent,  protected  by  the  consti- 
tution of  the  realm.  Whatever  be  the  complexion  or  the 
language  of  the  nations  that  take  refuge  beneath  its  folds, 

20  they  look  up  to  it  everywhere,  and  bid  defiance  to  every 
other  despotism. 


LXXXII.— WONDEES   OF   ASTEONOMY. 

MiTCHEL. 

[Ormsbt  Macknight  Mitchel  was  born  in  Union  County,  Kentucky, 
August  28,  1810,  and  died  October  30,  1862.  He  was  a  graduate  of  VTest  Point 
Academy  of  the  class  of  1829,  but  preferred  a  civil  to  a  military  career.  He  was 
professor  at  Cincinnati  College  from  1834  to  1844.  Upon  the  establishment  of 
the  Observatory  at  Cincinnati,  in  1845,  he  became  director  of  the  institution. 
In  1859  he  was  made  director  of  the  Dudley  Observatory  at  Albany,  still  retain- 
ing his  connection  with  that  at  Cincinnati.  He  was  an  excellent  and  popular 
lecturer  on  astronomy,  and  a  good  observer.  He  published  two  works  on  the 
science.  "  Planetary  and  Stellar  Worlds,"  and  *'  Popular  Astronomy,"  and  ed- 
ited for  two  years  "  The  Sidereal  Messeng-er,"  the  first  exclusively  astronom- 
ical periodical  attempted  in  the  United  States. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  civil  Avar  he  offered  his  services  to  his  country 
in  a  military  capacity,  was  made  brigadier-general  of  volunteers,  and  afterwards 
major-general.  In  his  new  sphere  of  duty,  he  displayed  his  usual  activity  and 
energy.    Having  been  appointed  commander  of  a  military  department  at  the 

21* 


246  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

South, he -was  preparing  for  a  vigorous  campaign,  when  he  was  carried  off  by  an 
attack  of  yellow  fever.  His  death  was  felt  to  be  a  great  loss  to  the  service,  as  his 
moral  worth  and  religious  feeling  were  as  conspicuous  as  his  intellectual  power. 
,  The  following  extract  is  from  the  "  Astronomy  of  the  Bible,"  a  work  pub- 
lished since  his  death.  He  is  considering  the  astronomical  allusions  in  the 
Book  of  Job,  and  has  just  quoted  chapter  xxxviii.,  verses  19,  20,  21.] 

Go  with  me  to  yonder  "  light-house  of  the  skies." 
Poised  on  its  rocky  base,  behold  that  wondrous  tube  which 
lifts  the  broad  pupil  of  its  eye  high  up,  as  if  gazing  in- 
stinctively into  the  mighty  deep  of  space.  Look  out  upon 
5  the  heavens,  and  gather  into  your  eye  its  glittering  con- 
stellations. Pause  and  reflect  that  over  the  narrow  zone 
of  the  retina  of  your  eye  a  universe  is  pictured,  painted 
by  light  in  all  its  exquisite  and  beautiful  proportions. 
Look  upon  that  luminous  zone  which  girdles  the  sky,  — 

10  observe  its  faint  and  cloudy  light.  How  long,  think  you, 
that  light  has  been  streaming,  day  and  night,  with  a  swift- 
ness which  flashes  it  on  its  way  twelve  millions  of  miles  in 
each  and  every  minute  ?  —  how  long  has  it  fled  and  flashed 
through  space  to  reach  your  eye  and  tell  its  wondrous  tale  ? 

15  Not  less  than  a  century  has  rolled  away  since  it  left  its 
home !  Hast  thou  taken  it  at  the  bound  thereof?  Is  this 
the  bound,  —  here  the  limit  from  beyond  which  light  can 
never  come? 

Look  to  yonder  point  in  space,  and  declare  that  thou 

20  beholdest  nothing,  absolutely  nothing;  all  is  blank  and 
deep  and  dark.  You  exclaim :  Surely  no  ray  illumines  that 
deep  profound.  Place  your  eye  for  one  moment  to  the  tube 
that  now  pierces  that  seeming  domain  of  night,  and,  lo ! 
ten  thousand  orbs,  blazing  with  light  unutterable,  burst  on 

25  the  astonished  sight.  Whence  start  these  hidden  suns  ? 
Whence  comes  this  light  from  out  deep  darkness  ?  Knowest 
thou,  0  man !  the  paths  to  the  house  thereof  ?  Ten  thou- 
sand years  have  rolled  away  since  these  wondrous  beams 
set  out  on  their  mighty  journey !    Then  you  exclaim:  We 

30  have  found  the  boundary  of  light;  surely  none  can  lie 
beyond  this  stupendous  limit:    far  in  the  deep  beyond 


llILLAFwD'S    SIXTH   READER.  247 

darkness  unfathomable  reigns.  Look  once  more.  The  vision 
changes ;  a  hazy  cloud  of  light  now  fills  the  field  of  the 
telescope.  Whence  comes  the  light  of  this  mysterious  ob- 
ject? Its  home  is  in  the  mighty  deep,  as  far  beyond  the 
5  limit  you  had  vainly  fixed,  —  ten  thousand  times  as  far, 

—  as  that  limit  is  beyond  the  reach  of  human  vision. 
And  thus  we  mount,  and  rise,  and  soar,  from  height  to 

height,  upward,  and  ever  upward  still,  till  the  mighty 
series  ends,  because  vision  fails,  and  sinks,  and  dies. 

10  Hast  thou  then  pierced  the  boundary  of  light?  Hast 
thou  penetrated  the  domain  of  darkness  ?  Hast  thou,  weak 
mortal,  soared  to  the  fountain  whence  come  these  wondrous 
streams,  and  taken  the  light  at  the  hand  thereof  ?  Know- 
est  thou  the  paths  to  the  house  thereof  ?    Hast  thou  stood 

15  at  yonder  infinite  origin,  and  bid  that  flash  depart  and  jour- 
ney onward,  days  and  months  and  years,  century  on  cen- 
tury, through  countless  ages, — millions  of  years,  and  never 
weary  in  its  swift  career  ?  Knowest  thou  when  it  started  ? 
Knowest  thou  it  because  thou  wast  then  born,  and  because 

20  the  number  of  thy  days  is  great  ?  Such,  then,  is  the  lan- 
guage addressed  by  Jehovah  to  weak,  erring,  mortal  man. 
How  has  the  light  of  science  flooded  with  meaning  this- 
astonishing  passage  ?     Surely,  surely  we  do  not  misread, 

—  the  interpretation  is  just. 


LXXXIII.  —  THANATOPSIS.=^ 
Bryant. 
To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language.     Tor  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 

♦From  two  Greek  words,  signifying  a  view  of  death 


2iS  iiillaPwD's  sixth  reader. 

And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
6  Of  the  stem  agony,  and  shroud  and  pall. 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart,  — 
Go  forth  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around—- 
10  Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air,  — 
Comes  a  still  voice  —  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
15  Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 

Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again  ; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

2  0  To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock. 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 

25  Yet  not  to  thin©  eternal  resting-place 

Shalt  thou  retire  alone  —  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world ;  with  kings. 
The  powerful  of  the  earth  —  the  wise,  the  good, 

30  Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past,  — 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.  —  The  hills 
Eock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun ;  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between ; 
The  venerable  woods ;  rivers  that  move 

35  In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 

That  make  the  meadows  green  ;  and,  poured  round  all, 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  249 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste,  — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
5  Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bo§om.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce ; 

10  Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings  —  yet  —  the  dead  are  there, 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 

15  In  their  last  sleep  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone.  — 
So  shalt  thou  rest  —  and  what  if  thou  shalt  fall 
Unnoticed  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 

20  When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom  ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 

25  Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men. 

The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron,  and  maid 
The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant  in  the  smiles 
And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  oflF,  — 

30  Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 

35  His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quariy-slave  at  night 


250  iiillard's  sixth  reader. 

Scourged  to  his  dungeon ;  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


LXXXIV.  — THE  USES  OE  THE  OCEAN.  , 

SWAIK. 

[The  following  extract  is  a  portion  of  a  sermon  of  striking  eloquence  and 
beauty  by  the  Rev.  Leonard  Swain,  of  Trovidence,  Rhode  Island,  published  in 
the  "  Bibliotheca  Sacra."] 

The  traveller  who  would  speak  of  his  experience  in  for- 
eign lands  must  begin  with  the  sea.  God  has  spread  this 
vast  pavement  of  his  temple  between  the  hemispheres,  so 
that  he  who  sails  to  foreign  shores  must  pay  a  double 
5  tribute  to  the  Most  High  ;  for  through  this  temple  he  has 
to  carry  his  anticipations  as  he  goes,  and  his  memories 
when  he  returns.  The  sea  speaks  for  God  ;  and  however 
eager  the  tourist  may  be  to  reach  the  strand  that  lies  be- 
fore him,  and  enter  upon  the  career  of  business  or  pleasure 

10  that  awaits  him,  he  must  check  his  impatience  during  this 
long  interval  of  approach,  and  listen  to  the  voice  with 
which  Jehovah  speaks  to  him  as,  horizon  after  horizon,  he 
moves  to  his  purpose  along  the  aisles  of  God's  mighty 
tabernacle  of  the  deep. 

15  It  is  a  common  thing,  in  speaking  of  the  sea,  to  call  it 
**  a  waste  of  waters."  But  this  is  a  mistake.  Instead  of 
being  an  encumbrance  or  a  superfluity,  the  sea  is  as  essen- 
tial to  the  life  of  the  world,  as  the  blood  is  to  the  life  of 
the  human  body.     Instead  of  being  a  waste  and  desert,  it 

20  keeps  the  earth  itself  from  becoming  a  waste  and  a  desert. 
It  is  the  world's  fountain  of  life  and  health  and  beauty ; 
and  if  it  were  taken  away,  the  grass  would  perish  from 
the  mountains,  the  forests  would  crumble  on  the  hills,  the 
harvests  would  become  powder  on  the  plains,  the  continent 


hillaiid's  sixth  header  251 

would  be  one  vast  Sahara  of  frosts  and  fire,  and  the  solid 
globe  itself,  scarred  and  blasted  on  every  side,  would 
swing  in  the  heavens,  silent  and  dead  as  on  the  first  morn- 
ing of  creation. 
5  Water  is  as  indispensable  to  all  life,  vegetable  or  ani- 
mal, as  the  air  itself.  From  the  cedar  on  the  mountains 
to  the  lichen  that  clings  to  the  wall ;  from  the  elephant 
that  pastures  on  the  forests,  to  the  animalcule  that  floats 
in  the  sunbeam ;  from  the  leviathan  that  heaves  the  sea 

10  into  billows,  to  the  microscopic  creatures  that  swarm,  a 
million  in  a  single  foam-drop,  —  all  alike  depend  for  their 
existence  on  this  single  element  and  must  perish  if  it  be 
withdrawn. 

This  element  of  water  is  supplied  entirely  by  the  sea. 

15  The  sea  is  the  great  inexhaustible  fountain  which  is  con- 
tinually pouring  up  into  the  sky  precisely  as  many  streams, 
and  as  large,  as  all  the  rivers  of  the  world  are  pouring 
into  it. 

The  sea  is  the  real  birthplace  of  the  clouds  and  the 

20  rivers,  and  out  of  it  come  all  the  rains  and  dews  of  heaven. 
Instead  of  being  a  waste  and  an  encumbrance,  therefore,  it 
is  a  vast  fountain  of  fruitfulness,  and  the  nurse  and  mother 
of  all  the  living.  Out  of  its  mighty  breast  come  the  re- 
sources that  feed  and  support  the  population  of  the  world. 

25  Omnipresent  and  everywhere  alike  is  this  need  and  bless- 
ing of  the  sea.  It  is  felt  as  truly  in  the  centre  of  the  con- 
tinent,—  where,  it  may  be,  the  rude  inhabitant  never 
heard  of  the  ocean,  —  as  it  is  on  the  circumference  of  the 
wave-beaten  shore. 

30  We  are  surrounded,  every  moment,  by  the  presence  and 
bounty  of  the  sea.  It  looks  out  upon  us  from  every  violet 
in  our  garden-bed ;  from  every  spire  of  grass  that  drops  upon 
our  passing  feet  the  beaded  dew  of  the  morning  ;  from  the 
bending  grain  that  fills  the  arm  of  the  reaper;  from  bursting 

35  presses,  and  from  barns  filled  with  plenty ;  from  the  broad 
foreheads  of  our  cattle  and  the  rosy  faces  of  our  children; 


252  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

from  the  cool  dropping  well  at  our  door  ;  from  the  brook 
that  murmurs  from  its  side,  and  from  the  elm  or  spreading 
maple  that  weave  their  protecting  branches  beneath  the 
sun,  and  swing  their  breezy  shadows  over  our  habitation. 
6  It  is  the  sea  that  feeds  us.  It  is  the  sea  that  clothes 
us.  It  cools  us  with  the  summer  cloud,  and  warms  us  with 
the  blazing  fires  of  winter.  We  make  wealth  for  ourselves 
and  for  our  children  out  of  its  rolling  waters,  though  we 
may  live  a  thousand  leagues  away  from  its  shore,  and  never 

10  have  looked  on  its  crested  beauty,  or  listened  to  its  eternal 
anthem.  Thus  the  sea,  though  it  bears  no  harvest  on  its 
bosom,  yet  sustains  all  the  harvests  of  the  world.  Though 
a  desert  itself,  it  makes  all  the  other  wildernesses  of  the 
earth  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose.     Though  its  own 

15  waters  are  as  salt  and  wormwood,  it  makes  the  clouds  of 
heaven  to  drop  with  sweetness,  opens  springs  in  the  val- 
leys and  rivers  among  the  hills,  and  fountains  in  all  dry 
places,  and  gives  drink  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth. 
The  sea  is  a  perpetual  source  of  health  to  the  world. 

20  Without  it  there  could  be  no  drainage  for  the  lands.  It 
is  the  scavenger  of  the  world.  Its  agency  is  omnipresent. 
Its  vigilance  is  omniscient.  Where  no  sanitary  committee 
could  ever  come,  where  no  police  could  ever  penetrate,  its 
myriad  eyes  are  searching,  and  its  million  hands  are  busy 

25  exploring  all  the  lurking-places  of  decay,  bearing  swiftly 
off  the  dangerous  sediments  of  life,  and  laying  them  a 
thousand  miles  away  in  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep. 

The  sea  is  also   set  to  purify  the  atmosphere.     The 
winds,  whose  wings  are  heavy  and  whose  breath  is  sick 

30  with  the  malaria  of  the  lands  over  which  they  have  blown, 
are  sent  out  to  range  over  these  mighty  pastures  of  the 
deep,  to  plunge  and  play  with  its  rolling  billows,  and  dip 
their  pinions  over  and  over  in  its  healing  waters.  There 
they  rest  when  they  are  weary,  cradled  into  sleep  on  that 

35  vast  swinging  couch  of  the  ocean.  There  they  rouse  them- 
selves when  they  are  refreshed,  and  lifting  its  waves  upon 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  253 

their  shoulders,  they  dash  it  into  spray,  and  hurl  it  hack- 
wards  and  forwards  through  a  thousand  leagues  of  sky. 
Thus  their  whole  substance  is  drenched,  and  bathed,  and 
washed,  and  winnowed,  and  sifted  through  and  through,  by 
5  this  glorious  baptism.  Thus  they  fill  their  mighty  lungs 
once  more  with  the  sweet  breath  of  ocean,  and,  striking 
their  wings  for  the  shore,  they  go  breathing  health  and 
vigor  along  all  the  fainting  hosts  that  wait  for  them  in 
mountain  and  forest  and  valley  and  plain,  till  the  whole 

10  drooping  continent  lifts  up  its  rejoicing  face,  and  mingles 
its  laughter  with  the  sea  that  has  waked  it  from  its 
fevered  sleep,  and  poured  its  tides  of  returning  life  through 
all  its  shrivelled  arteries. 

The  ocean  is  not  the  idle  creature  that  it  seems,  with 

15  its  vast  and  lazy  length  stretched  between  the  continents, 
with  its  huge  bulk  sleeping  along  the  shore,  or  tumbling 
in  aimless  fury  from  pole  to  pole.  It  is  a  mighty  giant, 
who,  leaving  his  oozy  bed,  comes  up  upon  the  land  to 
spend  his  strength  in  the  service  of  man.     He  there  allows 

20  his  captors  to  chain  him  in  prisons  of  stone  and  iron,  to 
bind  his  shoulders  to  the  wheel,  and  set  him  to  grind  the 
food  of  the  nations,  and  weave  the  garments  of  the  world. 
The  mighty  shaft,  which  that  wheel  turns,  runs  out  into  all 
the  lands  ;  and  geared  and  belted  to  that  centre  of  power, 

25  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  clanking  engines  roll 
their  cylinders,  and  ply  their  hammers,  and  drive  their 
million  shuttles. 

Thus  the  sea  keeps  all  our  mills  and  factories  in  mo- 
tion.    Thus  the  sea  spins  our  thread  and  weaves  our  cloth. 

30  It  is  the  sea  that  cuts  our  iron  bars  like  wax,  rolls  them 
out  into  proper  thinness,  or  piles  them  up  in  the  solid 
shaft  strong  enough  to  be  the  pivot  of  a  revolving  planet.' 
It  is  the  sea  that  tunnels  the  mountain,  and  bores  the 
mine,  and  lifts  the  coal  from  its  sunless  depths,  and  the 

35  ore  from  its  rocky  bed.     It  is  the  sea  that  lays  the  iron 
track,   that  builds  the  iron  horse,  that  fills  his  nostrils^ 
22 


254  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

with  fiery  breath,  and  sends  his  tireless  hoofs  thundering 
across  the  longitudes.  It  is  the  power  of  the  sea  that  is 
doing  for  man  all  those  mightiest  works  that  would  be  else 
impossible.  It  is  by  this  power  that  he  is  to  level  the 
5  mountains,  to  tame  the  wildernesses,  to  subdue  the  conti- 
nents, to  throw  his  pathways  around  the  globe,  and  make 
his  nearest  approaches  to  omnipresence  and  omnipotence. 


LXXXV.  — SCENE   AFTER  A   SUMMER   SHOWER. 

Norton. 

[Andrews  Norton  was  born  in  Hingham,  Mass.,  December  31,  1786,  and 
died  September  18, 1853.  He  was  for  many  years  a  professor  in  the  divinity 
school  of  Harvard  College,  and  remarkable  for  the  union  of  deep  devotional 
feeling  with  sharp  critical  spirit  in  the  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures.  His 
prose  style  is  admirable  for  precision,  vigor,  and  elegance.  His  poems  are 
few,  but  of  uncommon  beauty  in  conception  and  expression.] 

1     The  rain  is  o'er  —  How  dense  and  bright 
Yon  pearly  clouds  reposing  lie  ! 
Cloud  above  cloud,  a  glorious  sight, 
Contrasting  with  the  dark  blue  sky  I 

^2     In  grateful  silence  earth  receives 

The  general  blessing ;  fresh  and  fair, 
Each  flower  expands  its  little  leaves, 
As  glad  the  common  joy  to  share. 

'3     The  softened  sunbeams  pour  around 
A  fairy  light,  uncertain,  pale ; 
The  wind  flows  cool ;  the  scented  ground 
Is  breathing  odors  on  the  gale. 

4     Mid  yon  rich  clouds'  voluptuous  pile, 
Methinks  some  spirit  of  the  air 
Might  rest  to  gaze  below  awhile, 
Then  turn  to  bathe  and  revel  there. 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  255 

6     The  sun  breaks  forth :  from  off  the  scene. 
Its  floating  vale  of  mist  is  flung  ; 
And  all  the  wilderness  of  green 

With  trembling  drops  of  light  is  hung. 

6  Now  gaze  on  Nature  —  yet  the  same,  — 

Glowing  with  life,  by  breezes  fanned, 
Luxuriant,  lovely,  as  she  came 

Tresh  in  her  youth  from  God's  own  hand. 

7  Hear  the  rich  music  of  that  voice 

Which  sounds  from  all  below,  above ; 
She  calls  her  children  to  rejoice, 

And  round  them  throws  her  arms  of  love. 

8  Drink  in  her  influence :  low-born  care. 

And  all  the  train  of  mean  desire, 
Kefuse  to  breath  this  holy  air, 
And  mid  this  living  light  expire. 


LXXXYI  — JOHN    HAMPDEN. 

Macaulay. 

[Thomas  Babington  Macaulay,  was  born  in  the  village  of  Rothley,  in 
the  county  of  Leicester,  England,  October  25, 1800,  and  died  December  28, 1859. 
He  was  educated  at  Cambridge  University,  and  was  called  to  the  bar  in  1826. 
In  1830  he  became  a  member  of  parliament,  and  took  an  active  part  in  the  de- 
bates on  the  Reform  Bill.  In  1834  he  was  sent  to  India  as  a  member  of  the 
supreme  council.  Returning  home  in  1838,  he  was  again  elected  to  parliament 
in  1839,  and  was  appointed  secretary  of  war.  At  the  election  of  1847  he  was  de- 
feated, and  remained  out  of  parliament  till  1852,  when  he  again  became  a  mem- 
ber. He  was  created  a  peer  of  England,  with  the  title  of  Baron  Macaulay  of 
Rothley,  in  1857.  His  principal  literary  work  is  a  History  of  England,  in  five 
volumes,  the  last  a  fragmentary  volume  published  since  his  lamented  death. 
No  historical  work  in  the  English  language  has  ever  enjoyed  so  wide  a  popu- 
larity. It  is  written  in  a  most  animated  and  attractive  style,  and  abounds  with 
brilliant  pictures.  It  embodies  the  results  of  very  thorough  research,  and  its 
tone  and  spirit  arc  generous  and  liberal. 

;     His  essays,  most  of  which  were  originally  contributed  to  the  "  Edinburgh 
Eeview,"  have  had  a  popularity  greater  even  than  that  of  Ms  History.    They 


256  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

are  remarkable  for  brilliant  rhetorical  power,  splendid  coloring,  and  affluence 
of  ilfustration.  "" 

Lord  3Iacaulay  has  also  written  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,"  and  some  bal- 
lads in  the  same  style,  which  are  full  of  animation  and  energy,  and  have  the 
true  trumpet  ring  which  stirs  the  soul  and  kindles  the  blood.  His  parliamen- 
tary speeches  have  been  also  collected  and  published,  and  are  marked  by  the 
same  brilliant  rhetorical  euer<jy  as  his  writings. 

The  following  account  of  the  death  and  character  of  John  Hampden,  the 
great  English  patriot,  is  taken  from  a  review  of  Lord  Nugeut's  Memorials  of 
Hampden,  published  in  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  in  1831. 

In  June,  1043,  Trince  Rupert,  a  nephew  of  Charles  I.,  and  a  general  in  his 
«rvice,  had  sallied  out  from  Oxford  on  a  predatory  expedition,  and,  after 
some  slight  successes,  was  preparing  to  hurry  back  with  his  prisoners  and 
booty.     The  Earl  of  Essex  was  the  Parliamentary  commander-in-chief.] 


As  soon  as  Hampden  received  intelligence  of  Kupert's 
incursion,  he  sent  off  a  horseman  with  a  message  to  the 
general.  In  the  mean  time,  he  resolved  to  set  out  with 
all  the  cavalry  he  could  muster,  for  the  purpose  of  im- 
5  peding  the  march  of  the  enemy  till  Essex  could  take 
measures  for  cutting  off  their  retreat.  A  considerable  body 
of  horse  and  dragoons  volunteered  to  follow  him.  He  was 
not  their  commander.  He  did  not  even  belong  to  their 
branch  of  the  service.     "  But  he  was,"  says  Lord  Claren-' 

10  don,  "  second  to  none  but  the  general  himself  in  the 
observance  and  application  of  all  men."  On  the  field  of 
Chalgrove  he  came  up  with  Eupert.  A  fierce  skirmish 
ensued.  In  the  first  charge  Hampden  was  struck  in  the 
shoulder  by  two  bullets,  which  broke  the  bone  and  lodged 

15  in  his  body.  The  troops  of  the  parliament  lost  heart  and 
gave  way.  Eupert,  after  pursuing  them  for  a  short  time, 
hastened  to  cross  the  bridge,  and  made  his  retreat  unmo- 
lested to  Oxford. 

Hampden,  with  his  head  drooping,  and  his  hands  lean- 

20  ing  on  his  horse's  neck,  moved  feebly  out  of  the  battle. 
The  mansion  which  had  been  inhabited  by  his  father-in- 
law,  and  from  which,  in  his  youth,  he  had  carried  home 
his  bride  Elizabeth,  was  in  sight.  There  still  remains  an 
afi^ecting  tradition  that  he  looked  for  a  moment  towards 
that  beloved  house,  and  made  an  effort  to  go  thither  and 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  257 

die.  But  the  enemy  lay  in  that  direction.  He  turned 
his  horse  towards  Thame,  where  he  arrived  almost  faint- 
ing with  agony.  The  surgeons  dressed  his  wounds.  But 
there  was  no  hope.     The  pain  which  he  suffered  was  most 

5  excruciating.  But  he  endured  it  with  admirable  firmness 
and  resignation. 

His  first  care  was  for  his  country.  He  wrote  from  his  bed 
several  letters  to  London,  concerning  public  afi"airs,  and 
sent  a  last  pressing  message  to  the  head-quarters,  recom- 

10  mending  that  the  dispersed  forces  should  be  concentrated. 
When  his  public  duties  were  performed,  he  calmly  pre- 
pared himself  to  die.  He  was  attended  by  a  clergyman 
of  the  church  of  England,  with  whom  he  had  lived  in 
habits  of  intimacy,  and  by  the  chaplain  of  the  Bucking- 

15  hamshire  Greencoats,  Dr.  Spurton,  whom  Baxter  describes 
as  a  famous  and  excellent  divine. 

A  short  time  before  his  death,  the  sacrament  was 
administered  to  him.  His  intellect  remained  unclouded. 
When  all  was  nearly  over,  he  lay  murmuring  faint  prayers 

20  for  himself,  and  for  the  cause  in  which  he  died.  *•  Lord 
Jesus,"  he  exclaimed,  in  the  moment  of  the  last  agony, 
"  receive  my  soul.     0  Lord,  save  my  country.     O  Lord, 

be  merciful  to ."     In  that  broken  ejaculation  passed 

away  his  noble  and  fearless  spirit. 

25  He  was  buried  in  the  parish  church  of  Hampden.  His 
soldiers,  bareheaded,  with  reversed  arms  and  muffled  drums 
and  colors,  escorted  his  body  to  the  grave,  singing,  as  they 
marched,  that  lofty  and  melancholy  psalm  in  which  the 
fragility  of  human  life  is  contrasted  with  the  immutability 

30  of  Him  to  whom  a  thousand  years  are  as  yesterday  when 
it  is  passed,  and  as  a  watch  in  the  night. 

The  news  of  Hampden's  death  produced  as  great  a  con- 
sternation in  his  party,  according  to  Clarendon,  as  if  their 
whole  army  had  been  cut  oflf.     The  journals  of  the  time 

35  amply  prove  that  the  parliament  and  all  its  friends  were 
filled  with  grief  and  dismay.     Lord  Nugent  has  quoted  a 
22* 


258  hillard's  sixth  eeaderI 

remarkable  passage  from  the  next  **  Weekly  Intelligen- 
cer:" "The  loss  of  Colonel  Hampden  goeth  near  the 
heart  of  every  man  that  loves  the  good  of  his  king  and 
country,  and  makes  some  conceive  little  content  to  he  at 
5  the  army,  now  that  he  is  gone.  The  memory  of  this 
deceased  colonel  is  such,  that  in  no  age  to  come  but  it 
will  more  and  more  be  had  in  honor  and  esteem ;  a  man 
so  religious,  and  of  that  prudence,  judgment,  temper, 
valor,   and  integrity,  that  he  hath  left  few  his  like  be- 

10  hind."     He  had  indeed  left  none  his  like  behind  him. 

There  still  remained,  indeed,  in  his  party  many  acute 
intellects,  many  eloquent  tongues,  many  brave  and  honest 
hearts.  There  still  remained  a  rugged  and  clownish  sol- 
dier, half  fanatic,  half  buffoon,'-'  whose  talents,  discerned 

15  as  yet  only  by  one  penetrating  eye,  were  equal  to  all  the 
highest  duties  of  the  soldier  and  the  prince.  But  in 
Hampden,  and  in  Hampden  alone,  were  united  all  the 
qualities  which  at  such  a  crisis  were  necessary  to  save  the 
state,  —  the  valor  and  energy  of  Cromwell,  the  discern- 

20  ment  and  eloquence  of  Vane,  the  humanity  and  moderation 
of  Manchester,  the  stern  integrity  of  Hale,  the  ardent 
public  spirit  of  Sydney.  Others  might  possess  the  qual- 
ities which  were  necessary  to  save  the  popular  party  in 
the  crisis  of  danger ;  he  alone  had  both  the  power  and  the 

25  inclination  to  restrain  its  excesses  in  the  hour  of  triumph. 
Others  could  conquer  ;  he  alone  could  reconcile. 

A  heart  as  bold  as  his  brought  up  the  cuirassiers  who 
turned  the  tide  of  battle  on  Marston  Moor.  As  skilful  an 
eye  as  his  watched  the  Scotch  army  descending  from  the 

30  heights  over  Dunbar.  But  it  was  when,  to  the  sullen 
tyranny  of  Laud  and  Charles  had  succeeded  the  fierce 
conflict  of  sects  and  factions,  ambitious  of  ascendency  and 
burning  for  revenge,  —  it  was  when  the  vices  and  ignorance 
which  the  old  tyranny  had  generated  threatened  the  new 

*  Cromwell, 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  259 

freedom  with  destruction,  —  that  England  missed  the 
sobriety,  the  self-command,  the  perfect  soundness  of  judg- 
ment, the  perfect  rectitude  of  intention,  to  which  the 
history  of  revolutions  furnishes  no  parallel,  or  furnishes 
a  parallel  in  Washington  alone. 


LXXXYIL  — THE   PILGRIM   EATHERS. 

Sprague. 

[Charles  Sprague  was  born  in  Boston,  October  25, 1791,  and  has  con- 
stantly resided  here.  He  made  himself  first  known  as  a  poet  by  several  prize 
prologues  at  the  opening  of  theatres,  which  had  a  polish  of  numbers  and  a 
vigor  of  expression  not  often  found  in  compositions  of  this  class.  In  1823  he 
was  the  successful  competitor  for  a  prize  oflFered  for  the  best  ode  to  be  recited 
at  a  Shakspeare  pageant  at  the  Boston  Theatre,  This  is  the  most  fervid  and 
briUiant  of  all  his  poems,  and  has  much  of  the  lyric  rush  and  glow.  In  1829 
he  recited  a  poem  called  "  Curiosity,"  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of 
Harvard  College,  which  is  polished  in  its  versification,  and  filled  with  carefully 
wrought  and  beautiful  pictures.  In  1830  he  pronounced  an  ode  at  the  centennial 
celebration  of  the  settlement  of  Boston,  (from  which  the  following  extract  is 
taken,)  which  is  a  finished  and  animated  performance.  He  has  also  written 
many  smaller  pieces,  of  much  merit. 

Mr.  Sprague  presents  an  encouraging  example  of  the  union  of  practical  busi- 
ness habits  with  the  tastes  of  a  scholar  and  the  sensibilities  of  a  poet.  He  has 
been  for  many  years  cashier  of  a  bank,  and  performs  his  prosaic  duties  with 
as  much  attentiveness  and  skill  as  if  he  had  never  written  a  line  of  verse.] 

1         Behold  !  they  come  —  those  sainted  forms, 
Unshaken  through  the  strife  of  storms  ; 
Heaven's  winter  cloud  hangs  coldly  down, 
And  earth  puts  on  its  rudest  frown ; 
But  colder,  ruder,  was  the  hand 
That  drove  them  from  their  own  fair  land ; 
Their  own  fair  land  —  Refinement's  chosen  seat, 
Art's  trophied  dwelling,  Learning's  green  retreat,  — 
By  valor  guarded,  and  by  victory  crowned, 
Eor  all,  but  gentle  Charity,  renowned. 
"With  streaming  eye  yet  steadfast  heart, 
Even  from  that  land  they  dared  to  part, 
And  burst  each  tender  tie,  — 


XtO  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Haunts,  ^here  their  sunny  youtli  was  passed. 
Homes,  where  they  fondly  hoped  at  last 

In  peaceful  age  to  die. 
Friends,  kindred,  comfort,  all,  they  spurned,  ^ 

Their  fathers'  hallowed  graves, 
And  to  a  world  of  darkness  turned, 

Beyond  a  world  of  waves. 

2  When  Israel's  race  from  bondage  fled, 
Signs  from  on  high  the  wanderers  led  ; 
But  here  —  Heaven  hung  no  symbol  here. 
Their  steps  to  guide,  their  souls  to  cheer ; 
They  saw,  through  sorrow's  lengthening  night, 
Nought  but  the  fagot's  guilty  light ; 

The  cloud  they  gazed  at  was  the  smoke 
That  round  their  murdered  brethren  broke. 
A  fearful  path  they  trod, 

And  dared  a  fearful  doom. 
To  build  an  altar  to  their  God, 
And  find  a  quiet  tomb. 

3  They  come  ;  —  that  coming  who  shall  tell  ? 
The  eye  may  weep,  the  heart  may  swell, 
But  the  poor  tongue  in  vain  essays 

A  fitting  note  for  them  to  raise. 
We  hear  the  after- shout  that  rings 
Tor  them  who  smote  the  power  of  kings: 
The  swelling  triumph  all  would  share. 
But  who  the  dark  defeat  would  dare, 
And  boldly  meet  the  wrath  and  woe    - 
That  wait  the  unsuccessful  blow? 
It  were  an  envied  fate,  we  deem, 
To  live  a  land's  recorded  theme, 

When  we  are  in  the  tomb ; 
We,  too,  might  yield  the  joys  of  home, 
And  waves  of  winter  darkness  roam, 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  261 

And  tread  a  shore  of  gloom,  — 

Knew  we  those  waves,  through  coming  time, 

Should  roll  our  names  to  every  clime  ; 

Felt  we  that  millions  on  that  shore 

Should  stand,  our  memory  to  adore. 

But  no  glad  vision  burst  in  light 

Upon  the  Pilgrims'  aching  sight ; 

Their  hearts  no  proud  hereafter  swelled ; 

Deep  shadows  veiled  the  way  they  held  ; 
The  yell  of  vengeance  was  their  trump  of  fame, 
Their  monument,  a  grave  without  a  name. 

Yet,  strong  in  weakness,  there  they  stand 
On  yonder  ice-bound  rock, 

Stern  and  resolved,  that  faithful  band, 
To  meet  Fate's  rudest  shock. 

In  grateful  adoration  now, 
Upon  the  barren  sands  they  bow. 
What  tongue  e'er  woke  such  prayer 
As  bursts  in  desolation  there  ? 
What  arm  of  strength  e'er  wrought  such  power 
As  waits  to  crown  that  feeble  hour? 
There  into  life  an  infant  empire  springs  ! 
There  falls  the  iron  from  the  soul ; 
There  Liberty's  young  accents  roll 

Up  to  the  King  of  kings  ! 
To  fair  creation's  farthest  bound 
That  thrilling  summons  yet  shall  sound  ; 
The  dreaming  nations  shall  awake, 
And  to  their  centre  earth's  old  kingdoms  shake ; 

Pontiff  and  prince,  your  sway 

Must  crumble  from  that  day : 
Before  the  loftier  throne  of  Heaven 
The  hand  is  raised,  the  pledge  is  given, 
One  monarch  to  obey,  one  creed  to  own,  — 
That  monarch,  God  ;  that  creed,  His  word  alone. 


262  HILLARD  S    SIXTH   READER. 

5         Spread  out  earth's  holiest  records  here, 
Of  days  and  deeds  to  reverence  dear ; 
A  zeal  like  this  what  pious  legends  tell  ? 
On  kingdoms  built 
In  blood  and  guilt, 
The  worshippers  of  vulgar  triumph  dwell ; 
But  what  exploit  with  theirs  shall  page, 

Who  rose  to  bless  their  kind  —  r 

Who  left  their  nation  and  their  age, 
Man's  spirit  to  unbind  ? 
Who  boundless  seas  passed  o'er. 
And  boldly  met,  in  every  path, 
Tamine,  and  frost,  and  savage  wrath. 

To  dedicate  a  shore,  ,q 

Where  Piety's  meek  train  might  breathe  their  vow,        ^ 
And  seek  their  Maker  with  an  unshamed  brow ; 
Where  Liberty's  glad  race  might  proudly  come, 
And  set  up  there  an  everlasting  home  ?  ,^i 


0  many  a  time  it  hath  been  told, 
The  story  of  these  men  of  old : 
For  this  fair  Poetry  hath  wreathed 

Her  sweetest,  purest  flower  ; 
For  this  proud  Eloquence  hath  breathed 

His  strain  of  loftiest  power  ; 
Devotion,  too,  hath  lingered  round 
Each  spot  of  consecrated  ground. 

And  hill  and  valley  blessed  — 
There,  where  our  banished  fathers  strayed, 
There,  where  they  loved  and  wept  and  prayed, 

There,  where  their  ashes  rest,  — 
And  never  may  they  rest  unsung, 
W^hile  Liberty  can  find  a  tongue. 
Twine,  Gratitude,  a  wreath  for  them 
More  deathless  than  the  diadem. 


Jo 


«J 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  263 

"WTio,  to  life's  noblest  end, 

Gave  up  life's  noblest  powers, 
And  bade  the  legacy  descend 

Down,  down  to  us  and  ours. 


LXXXVIII.  — THE   INTELLECTUAL  INFLUENCE   OF 

GKEECE. 

Felton. 

[Cornelius  Conway  Felton  was  born  in  "West  Newbury,  Massachusetts, 
November  6,  1807,  and  died  February  26,  1862.  He  was  graduated  at  Harvard 
College  in  1827.  In  1834  he  was  elected  Eliot  Professor  of  Greek  Literature  in 
Harvard  College,  which  office  he  retained  till  1860,  when  he  was  elevated  to  the 
presidency  of  the  same  institution.  He  was  a  man  of  extensive  learning  and 
great  iatellectual  activity,  warmly  Interested  in  the  cause  of  education,  and 
much  beloved  in  all  the  relations  of  life.  He  was  the  editor  of  various  works 
in  the  department  of  classical  learning,  and  a  frequent  contributor  to  the  peri- 
odical literature  of  the  country. 

The  following  extract  is  from  an  address  before  the  Alumni  of  Harvard  Col- 
lege, delivered  July  20,  1854. 

Parnassus  is  a  lofty  mountain  in  the  central  part  of  Greece,  and  Acrocorin- 
thos  a  high  hill  overhanging  the  city  of  Corinth.  The  Acropolis  was  the  citadel 
of  Athens.  The  Cephissus  was  a  small  stream  in  Athens.  Agora  is  the  Greek 
word  for  market-place.  The  Hill  of  Mars,  or  Areopagus,  was  a  small  eminence 
in  Athens.  The  Parthenon  was  a  temple  of  Minerva,  built  of  marble,  the  ru- 
ins of  which  are  still  remaining.  Marathon  was  the  scene  of  a  battle,  and  the 
bay  of  Salamis  of  a  sea-tight,  between  the  Greeks  and  Persians.] 

An  ancient  orator,  claiming  for  his  beloved  Athens  the 
leadership  among  the  states  of  Greece,  rests  his  argument 
chiefly  on  her  pre-eminence  in  those  intellectual  graces 
which  embellish  the  present  life  of  man,  and  her  inculca- 
0  tion  of  those  doctrines  which  gave  to  the  initiated  a  sweeter 
hope  of  a  life  beyond  the  present 

During  the  long  existence  of  the  Athenian  Eepublic, 
amidst  the  interruptions  of  foreign  and  domestic  wars,  — 
her  territory  overrun  by  Hellenic  and  Barbarian  armies, 
10  her  forests  burned,  her  fields  laid  waste,  her  temples  lev- 
elled in  the  dust,  —  in  those  tumultuous  ages  of  her  dem- 
ocratic existence,   the  fire  of  her  creative  genius  never 


2Q4i  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

smouldered.  She  matured  and  perfected  the  art  of  his- 
torical composition,  of  political  and  forensic  eloquence,  of 
popular  legislation,  of  lyric  and  dramatic  poetry,  of  music, 
painting,  architecture,  and  sculpture ;  she  unfolded  the 
5  mathematics,  theoretically  and  practically,  and  clothed  the 
moral  and  metaphysical  sciences  in  the  brief  sententious 
wisdom  of  the  myriad-minded  Aristotle,  and  the  honeyeu 
eloquence  of  Plato. 

Eome  overran  the  world  with  her  arms,  and  though  she 

1 10  did  not  always  spare  the  subject,  she  beat  down  the  proud, 
and  laid  her  laws  upon  the  prostrate  nations.  Greece  fell 
before  the  universal  victor,  but  she  still  asserted  her  intel- 
lectual supremacy,  and,  as  even  the  Roman  poet  confessed, 
the  conquered  became  the  teacher  and  guide  of  the  con- 

15  queror. 

At  the  present  moment,  the  intellectual  dominion  of 
Greece  —  or  rather  of  Athens,  the  school  of  Greece  —  is 
more  absolute  than  ever.  Her  Plato  is  still  the  unsur- 
passed teacher  of  moral  wisdom ;  her  Aristotle  has  not 

20  been  excelled  as  a  philosophic  observer ;  her  ^Eschylus  and 
Sophocles  have  been  equalled  only  by  Shakspeare.  On 
the  field  of  Marathon,  we  call  up  the  shock  of  battle  and 
the  defeat  of  the  Barbarian  host ;  but  with  deeper  interest 
still  we  remember  that  the  great  dramatic  poet  fought  for 

25  his  country's  freedom  in  that  brave  muster.  As  we  "gaze 
over  the  blue  waters  of  Salamis,  we  think  not  only  of  the 
clash  of  triremes,  the  shout  of  the  onset,  the  paean  of  vic- 
tory ;  but  of  the  magnificent  lyrical  drama  in  which  the 
martial  poet  worthily  commemorated  the  naval  triumph 

30  which  he  had  worthil}'^  helped  to  achieve. 

All  these  things  suggest  lessons  for  us,  even  now.  We 
have  the  Eoman  passion  for  universal  empire,  under  the 
names  of  Manifest  Destiny  and  Annexation.  I  do  not 
deny  the  good  there  is  in  this,  nor  the  greatness  inherent 

35  in  extended  empire,  bravely  and  fairly  von.  But  the  em- 
pire of  science,  letters,  and  art  is  honorable  and  enviable, 


hillaed's  sixth  eeadek.  265 

because  it  is  gained  by  no  unjust  aggression  on  neighbor- 
ing countries  ;  by  no  subjection  of  weaker  nations  to  the 
rights  of  the  stronger ;  by  no  stricken  fields,  reddened 
with  the  blood  of  slaughtered  myriads.  No  crimes  of  vio- 
5  lence  or  fraud  sow  the  seed  of  disease,  which  must  in  time 
lay  it  prostrate  in  the  dust ;  its  foundations  are  as  im- 
movable as  virtue,  and  its  structure  as  imperishable  as  the 
heavens. 

If  we  must  add  province  to  province,  let  us  add  realm 

10  to  realm  in  our  intellectual  march.  If  we  must  enlarge 
our  territory  till  the  continent  can  no  longer  contain  us, 
let  us  not  forget  to  enlarge,  with  equal  step,  the  boundaries 
of  science  and  the  triumphs  of  art.  I  confess  I  would 
rather,  for  human  progress,  that  the  poet  of  America  gave 

15  a  new  charm  to  the  incantations  of  the  Muse ;  that  the 
orator  of  America  spoke  in  new  and  loftier  tones  of  civic 
and  philosophic  eloquence  ;  that  the  artist  of  America  over- 
matched the  godlike  forms,  whose  placid  beauty  looks  out 
upon  us  from  the  great  past,  —  than  annex  to  a  country, 

20  already  overgrown,  every  acre  of  desert  land,  from  ocean 
to  ocean,  and  from  pole  to  pole. 

If  we  combine  the  Roman  character  with  the  Greek,  the 
Eoman  has  had  its  sway  long  enough,  and  it  is  time  the 
Greek  should  take  its  turn.     Vast  extent  is  something, 

25  but  not  everything.  The  magnificent  civilization  of  Eng- 
land, and  her  imperial  sway  over  the  minds  of  men,  are 
the  trophies  of  a  realm,  geographically  considered,  but  a 
satellite  to  the  continent  of  Europe,  which  you  can  trav- 
erse in  a  single  day. 

30  The  states  of  Greece  were  of  insignificant  extent.  On 
the  map  of  the  world  they  fill  a  scarcely  visible  space,  and 
Attica  is  a  microscopic  dot.  From  the  heights  of  Parnas- 
sus, from  the  Acrocorinthos,  the  eye  ranges  over  the  whole 
land  which  has  filled  the  universe  with  the  renown  of  its 

35  mighty  names. 

From  the  Acropolis  of  Athens  we  trace  the  scenes  where 
23 


2QQ  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Socrates  conversed  and  taught  and  died ;  where  Demos- 
thenes breathed  deliberate  valor  into  the  despairing  hearts 
of  his  countrymen ;  where  the  dramatists  exhibited  their 
matchless  tragedy  and  comedy  ;  where  Plato  charmed  the 
5  hearers  of  the  Academy  with  the  divinest  teaching  of 
Philosophy,  while  the  Ccphissus  murmured  by  under  the 
shadow  of  immemorial  olive-groves,  and  the  Hill  of  Mars ; 
where  St.  Paul  taught  the  wondering  but  respectful  sa- 
ges of  Agora,  the  knowledge  of  the  living  God,  and  the 

10  resurrection  to  life  eternal. 

There  stand  the  ruins  of  the  Parthenon,  saluted  and 
transfigured  by  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun,  or  the  un- 
speakable loveliness  of  the  Grecian  night ;  beautiful,  sol- 
emn, pathetic.     In  that  focus  of  an  hour's  easy  walk,  the 

15  lights  of  ancient  culture  condensed  their  burning  rays ; 
and  from  this  centre  they  have  lighted  all  time  and  the 
whole  world. 


LXXXIX.^GEEECE,  IN  1809. 
Byron. 

[George  Gordon  Byron,  Lord  Byron,  was  born  in  London,  January  22, 
1788,  and  died  at  Missolons^hi,  in  Greece,  April  19,  1824.  In  March,  1812,  he  pub- 
lished the  first  two  cantos  of  liis  splendid  poem,  "Childe  Harold's  Pil^^rimage," 
which  produced  an  impression  upon  the  public  almost  without  precedent  in 
Eng-lish  literature,  and  gained  him  the  very  highest  place  among  the  poets 
of  the  day.  From  that  time  till  his  death  he  poured  forth  a  rapid  succession  of 
brilliant  and  striking  productions,  varying  in  deg-rees  of  merit,  but  all  contrib- 
uting to  maintain  him  in  his  lofty  literary  position,  and  keeping  his  name  ever 
fresh  upon  men's  lips.  The  interest  which  he  awakened  as  a  poet  was  further 
enhanced  by  a  wayward  and  irregular  life,  by  an  unhappy  marriage,  a  separai 
tion  from  his  wife,  and  by  his  finally  joining  the  Greeks  in  their  struggles 
against  the  Turks.  Perhaps  no  man  of  letters  was  ever  so  much  talked  about, 
written  about,  attacked  and  defended,  in  his  own  life,  as  he. 

Lord  Byron's  fame  with  posterity  will  not  equal  the  prodigious  popularity 
he  eujoyed  among  his  contemporaries.  And  yet  his  poetry  has,  in  an  intellect- 
ual point  of  view,  some  great  and  enduring  excellences.  In  description  and  in 
the  expression  of  passion  he  is  unrivalled.  His  power  over  the  resources  of 
the  language  is  great,  though  he  is  not  a  careful  or  accurate  writer.  His  poetry 
abounds  with  passages  of  melting  tenderness  and  exquisite  sweetness,  which 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  267 

take  captive  and  bear  away  the  susceptible  heart.  His  wit,  too,  is  playful  and 
brilliant,  and  his  sarcasm  venomous  and  blistering.  His  leading  characteristic 
is  energy:  he  is  never  languid  or  tame;  and  in  his  highest  moods,  his  words 
flash  and  burn'  like  lightning  from  the  cloud,  and  hurry  the  reader  along  with 
the  breathless  speed  of  the  tempest. 

Much  of  Lord  Byron's  poetry  is  objectionable  in  a  moral  point  of  view.  Some 
of  it  ministers  undisguisedly  to  the  evil  passions,  and  confounds  the  distinc- 
tions between  right  and  wrong ;  and  still  more  of  it  is  false  and  morbid  in  its 
tone,  and  teaches,  directly  or  indirectly,  the  mischievous  and  irreligious  doc- 
trine, that  the  unhappiness  of  men  is  just  in  proportion  to  their  intellectual 
superiority. 

There  was  little  that  was  respectable  or  estimable  in  Lord  Byron's  life.  He 
had  no  fixed  principles,  and  was  the  sport  of  every  whim  or  passion  that  as- 
sailed him.  For  many  years,  he  lived  an  outcast  from  his  home  and  country, 
In  open  defiance  of  the  laws  of  God  and  man ;  not  without  spasms  of  self- 
reproach  and  half  purposes  of  reform.  His  joining  the  Greeks  showed  that 
his  profligate  and  self-indulgent  habits  had  not  destroyed  in  him  the  power  of 
vigorous  action  and  generous  sacrifice. 

Tlie  following  extract  is  from  "  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage."  Thermopyla 
is  a  narrow  pass  leading  from  Thessaly  into  Southern  Greece,  where  Leonidas, 
and  a  small  band  of  Spartan  heroes,  resisting  an  immense  Persian  host,  were 
all  slain.  The  town  of  Sparta,  or  Lacedjemon,  was  upon  the  river  Eurotas. 
Thrasybulus  was  an  Athenian  general  who  overthrew  the  power  of  the  Thirty 
Tyrants  in  Athens  B.  c.  403.  He  first  seized  the  fortress  of  Phyle,  which 
was  about  fifteen  miles  from  Athens.  The  Helots  were  slaves  to  the  Spartans. 
Colonna,  or  Colonni,  anciently  Sunium,  is  a  promontory  forming  the  southern 
extremity  of  Attica,  where  there  was  a  temple  to  Minerva,  who  was  also  called 
Tritonia.  Hymettus  and  Pentelicus  were  mountains  near  Athens,  the  former 
famous  ibr  honey,  and  the  latter  for  marble.  The  modern  name  of  Pentelicus 
is  Mendeli.  Atliena  was  a  name  by  which  the  Greeks  called  Minerva,  the  lit- 
erary goddess  of  Athens.] 

1  Fair  Greece  !  sad  rdic  of  departed  worth  ! 

Immortal,  though  no  more ;  though  fallen,  great ! 
Who  now  shall  lead  thy  scattered  children  forth, 

And  long  accustomed  bondage  uncreate  ? 

Not  such  thy  sons  who  whilome  did  await  — 
The  hopeless  warriors  of  a  willing,  doom  — 

In  bleak  Thermopylae's  sepulchral  strait: 
0  !  who  that  gallant  spirit  shall  resume, 
Leap  from  Eurotas'  banks  and  call  thee  from  the  tomb  ? 

2  Spirit  of  Freedom !  when  on  Phyle' s  brow 

Thou  sat'st  with  Thrasybulus  and  his  train, 
Couldst  thou  forebode  the  dismal  hour  that  now 
Dims  the  green  beauties  of  thine  Attic  plain  ? 


268  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Not  thirty  tyrants  now  enforce  the  chain, 
But  every  carle  can  lord  it  o'er  thy  land  ; 
Nor  rise  thy  sons,  but  idly  rail  in  vain, 
Trembling  beneath  the  scourge  of  Turkish  hand. 
From  birth  till  death  enslaved ;  in  word,  in  deed,  unmanned. 

.3     In  all,  save  form  alone,  how  changed !  and  who 
That  marks  the  fire  still  sparkling  in  each  eye, 
Who  but  would  deem  their  bosoms  burned  anew 
With  thy  unquenched  beam,  lost  Liberty  ! 
And  many  dream   withal  the  hour  is  nigh 
That  gives  them  back  their  fathers'  heritage ; 
For  foreign  arms  and  aid  they  fondly  sigh, 
Nor  solely  dare  encounter  hostile  rage. 
Or  tear  their  name  defiled  from  Slavery's  mournful  page. 

4  Hereditary  bondmen !  know  ye  not 

Who  would  be  free,  themselves  must  strike  the  blow  ? 
By  their  right  arms  the  conquest  must  be  wrought : 

Will  Gaul,  or  Muscovite,  redress  ye  ?  —  No  !  ,; 

True,  they  may  lay  your  proud  despoilers  low  ; 
But  not  for  you  will  Freedom's  altars  flame. 

Shades  of  the  Helots  !  triumph  o'er  your  foe  ! 
Greece  !  change  thy  lords :   thy  state  is  still  the  same : 
Thy  glorious  day  is  o'er,  but  not  thy  years  of  shame. 

5  When  riseth  Lacedaemon's  hardihood, 

When  Thebes  Epaminoudas  rears  again, 
When  Athens'  children  are  with  hearts  endued. 

When  Grecian  mothers  shall  give  birth  to  men, 

Then  thou  mayst  be  restored ;  but  not  till  then. 
A  thousand  years  scarce  serve  to  form  a  state ; 

An  hour  may  lay  it  in  the  dust ;  and  when 
Can  man  its  shattered  s})lcn<lor  renovate? 
Eecall  its  virtues  back,  and  vanquish  Time  and  Fate? 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  269. 

6     And  yet,  how  lovely,  in  thine  age  of  woe, 

Land  of  lost  gods,  and  godlike  men,  art  thou  ! 
Thy  vales  of  evergreen,  thy  hills  of  snow, 
Proclaim  thee  Nature's  varied  favorite  now. 
Thy  fanes,  thy  temples,  to  thy  surface  bow, 
Commingling  slowly  with  heroic  earth  ; 

Broke  by  the  share  of  every  rustic  plough : 
So  perish  monuments  of  mortal  birlh; 
So  perish  all  in  turn  save  well-recorded  worth : 

Save  where  some  solitary  column  mourns 
Above  its  prostrate  brethren  of  the  cave ; 

Save  where  Tritonia's  airy  shrine  adorns 
Colonna's  cliff,  and  gleams  along  the  wave7 
Save  o'er  some  warrior's  half-forgotten  grave, 

Where  the  gray  stones  and  unmolested  grass 
Ages,  but  not  oblivion,  feebly  brave, 

"While  strangers  only,  not  regardless  pass, 
^Lingering,  like  me,  perchance,  to  gaze  and  sigh  "  Alas! " 

8  Yet  are  thy  skies  as  blue,  thy  crags  as  wild  ; 

Sweet  are  thy  groves,  and  verdant  are  thy  fields, 
Thine  olive  ripe  as  when  Minerva  smiled, 

And  still  his  honeyed  wealth  Hymettus  yields. 

There  the  blithe  bee  his  fragrant  fortress  builds, 
The  freeborn  wanderer  of  thy  mountain  air. 

Apollo  still  thy  long,  long  summer  gilds, 
Still  in  his  beams  Mendeli's  marbles  glare : 
Art,  Grlory,  Freedom  fail,  but  Nature  still  is  fair, 

9  Where'er  we  tread  't  is  haunted,  holy  ground ; 

No  earth  of  thine  is  lost  in  vulgar  mould ; 
But  one  vast  realm  of  wonder  spreads  around, 
And  all  the  Muse's  tales  seem  truly  told. 
Till  the  sense  aches  with  gazing,  to  behold 
23* 


.270  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

The  scenes  our  earliest  dreams  hare  dwelt  upon. 

Each  hill  and  dale,  each  deepening  glen  and  wold 
Defies  the  power  which  crushed  thy  temples  gone : 
Age  shakes  Athena's  tower,  but  spares  gray  Marathon. 

10     Long,  to  the  remnants  of  thy  splendor  past. 

Shall  pilgrims  pensive,  but  unwearied,  throng ; 
Long  shall  the  voyager,  with  th'  Ionian  blast. 
Hail  the  bright  clime  of  battle  and  of  song. 
Long  shall  thine  annals  and  immortal  tongue 
rill  with  thy  fame  the  youth  of  many  a  shore ; 

Boast  of  the  aged  !  lesson  of  the  young ! 
Which  sages  venerate  and  bards  adore, 
As  Pallas  and  the  Muse  unveil  their  awful  lore. 


OL 


XC  — THE  INFLUENCE  OE  ATHENS. 

Mac  AULA  Y. 

[The  following  extract  is  from  a  review  of  *•  Mitford's  History  of  Greece," 
Juvenal  was  a  Roman  satirist.  Dante  was  an  illustrious  Italian  poet,  born  in 
1265.  Cervantes  was  a  great  Spanish  writer,  the  author  of  "Don  Quixote." 
Bacon  was  a  great  philosopher  and  writer  of  England.  Butler  was  the  author 
of  "  Hudibras,"  the  wittiest  poem  in  the  English  language.  Erasmus  was  a 
celebrated  scholar,  a  native  of  Holland.  Pascal  was  an  eminent  writer  and 
philosopher  of  France.  Mirabeau  was  an  eloquent  French  orator,  who  took  a 
leading  part  in  the  early  movements  of  the  French  revolution.  Galileo  was  an 
illustrious  philosopher  and  scientific  discoverer,  a  native  of  Pisa  in  Italy.  Al- 
gernon Sidney  was  an  English  statesmam  and  patriot,  who  was  executed  upon 
a  false  charge  of  treason  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.] 

If  we  consider  merely  the  subtlety  of  disquisition,  the 
force  of  imagination,  the  perfect  energy  and  elegance  of 
expression,  which  characterize  the  great  works  of  Athe- 
nian genius,  we  must  pronounce  them  intrinsically  most 
5  valuable.  But  what  shall  we  say  when  we  reflect  that  from 
hence  have  sprung,  directly  or  indirectly,  all  the  noblest 
creations  of  the  human  intellect;  that  from  hence  were  the 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  271 

vast  accomplishments  and  the  brilliant  fancy  of  Cicero, 
the  withering  fire  of  Juvenal,  the  plastic  imagination  of 
Dante,  the  humor  of  Cervantes,  the  comprehension  of  Ba- 
con, the  wit  of  Butler,  the  supreme  and  universal  excel- 
5  lence  of  Shakspeare  ? 

All  the  triumphs  of  truth  and  genius  over  prejudice  and 
power,  in  every  country  and  in  every  age,  have  been  the 
triumphs  of  Athens.  Wherever  a  few  great  minds  have 
made  a  stand  against  violence  and  fraud,  in  the  cause  of 

10  liberty  and  reason,  there  has  been  her  spirit  in  the  midst 
of  them  ;  inspiring,  encouraging,  consoling ;  —  by  the 
lonely  lamp  of  Erasmus,  by  the  restless  bed  of  Pascal,  in 
the  tribune  of  Mirabeau,  in  the  cell  of  Galileo,  on  the 
scaffold  of  Sidney. 

15  But  who  shall  estimate  her  influence  on  private  happi- 
ness? Who  shall  say  how  many  thousands  have  been 
made  wiser,  happier,  and  better,  by  those  pursuits  in 
which  she  has  taught  mankind  to  engage ;  to  how  many 
the  studies  which  took  their  rise  from  her  have   been 

20  wealth  in  poverty,  liberty  in  bondage,  health  in  sickness, 
society  in  solitude. 

Her  power  is,  indeed,  manifested  at  the  bar,  in  the  sen- 
ate, in  the  field  of  battle,  in  the  schools  of  philosophy. 
But  these  are  not  her  glory.    Wherever  literature  consoles 

25  sorrow,  or  assuages  pain ;  wherever  it  brings  gladness  to 

eyes  which  fail  with  wakefulness  and  tears,  and  ache  for 

the  dark  house  and  the  long  sleep,  —  there  is  exhibited, 

in  its  noblest  form,  the  immortal  influence  of  Athens. 

The  dervise,  in  the  Arabian  tale,  did  not  hesitate  to 

30  abandon  to  his  comrade  the  camels  with  their  load  of 
jewels  and  gold,  while  he  retained  the  casket  of  that  mys- 
terious juice  which  enabled  him  to  behold  at  one  glance 
all  the  hidden  riches  of  the  universe.  Surely  it  is  no  ex- 
aggeration to  say,  that  no  external  advantage  is  to  be 

35  compared  with  that  purification  of  the  intellectual  eye, 
which  gives  us  to  contemj)late  the  infinite  wealth  of  the 


272  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

mental  world ;  all  the  hoarded  treasures  of  the  primeval 
dynasties,  all  the  shapeless  ore  of  its  yet  unexplored 
mines.     This  is  the  gift  of  Athens  to  man. 

Her  freedom  and  her  power  have,  for  more  than  twenty 
5  centuries,  been  annihilated ;  her  people  have  degenerated 
into  timid  slaves  ;  her  language,  into  a  barbarous  jargon  ; 
her  temples  have  been  given  up  to  the  successive  depreda- 
tions of  Eomans,  Turks,  and  Scotchmen ;  but  her  intel- 
lectual empire  is  imperishable. 

10  And,  when  those  who  have  rivalled  her  greatness  shall 
have  shared  her  fate;  when  civilization  and  knowledge 
shall  have  fixed  their  abode  in  distant  continents ;  when 
the  sceptre  shall  have  passed  away  from  England ;  when, 
perhaps,  travellers  from  distant  regions  shall  in  vain  labor 

15  to  decipher  on  some  mouldering  pedestal  the  name  of  our 
proudest  chief ;  shall  hear  savage  hymns  chanted  to  some 
misshapen  idol  over  the  ruined  dome  of  our  proudest  tem- 
ple, and  shall  see  a  single  naked  fisherman  wash  his  nets 
in  the  river  of  the  ten  thousand  masts,  — her  influence  and 

20  her  glory  will  still  survive,  fresh  in  eternal  youth,  ex- 
empt from  mutability  and  decay,  immortal  as  the  intel- 
lectual principle  from  which  they  derived  their  origin, 
and  over  which  they  exercise  their  control. 


XCL  — LOCHIEL'S    WAENING. 
Campbell. 

[In  1745,  Charles  Edward,  grandson  of  James  II,  landed  in  Scotland,  and 
soon  gathered  around  liim  an  army  with  which  he  marched  into  England,  in 
order  to  regain  possession  of  the  throne  from  which  his  ancestors  had  been 
driven.  lie  was  brilliantly  successful  at  first,  and  penetrated  into  England  as 
far  as  Derby ;  but  he  was  then  obliged  to  retreat,  and,  after  many  disasters, 
his  army  was  entirely  defeated  by  the  English,  under  command  of  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  at  Culloden. 

Lochiel,  the  head  of  the  warlike  clan  of  the  Camerons,  was  one  of  the  most 
powerful  of  the  Highland  chieftains,  and  a  zealous  supporter  of  the  claims  of 
Charles  Edward.    Among  the  Highlanders  are  certain  persons  supposed  to 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  273 

have  the  g'ift  of  second  sight;  that  is,  the  power  of  foreseeing  future  events, 
Locliiel,  on  his  way  to  join  Charles  Edward,  is  represented  as  meeting  one  of 
these  seers,  who  endeavors  in  vain  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose.] 

[Seer,  Lochiel.] 

1  Seer.    Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array  I 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight. 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scattered  in  fight : 
They  rally,  they  bleed,  for  their  kingdom  and  crown  ; 
Woe,  woe  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down  I 
Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain, 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain. 
But  hark !  through  the  fast-flashing  lightning  of  war, 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far  ? 

*T  is  thine,  0  GlenuUin !  whose  bride  shall  await, 
Like  a  love-lighted  watchfire,  all  night  at  the  gate. 
A  steed  comes  at  morning  :  no  rider  is  there  ; 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep,  Albin  !  ="  to  death  and  captivity  led  ! 
0  weep !  but  thy  tears  cannot  number  the  dead ; 
For  a  merciless  sword  on  Culloden  shall  wave  — 
Culloden,  that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 

2  Lochiel.    Go,  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling 

seer ; 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear. 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight 
This  mantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright. 

3  Seer.    Ha !  laugh'st  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn  ? 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall  be  torn : 
Say,  rushed  the  bold  eagle  exultingly  forth 

From  his  home  in  the  dark- rolling  clouds  of  the  north  ? 
Lo !  the  death- shot  of  foemen  outspeeding,  he  rode 
Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad  ; 
But  down  let  him  stoop  from  his  havoc  on  high  ! 
Ah,  home  let  him  speed  —  for  the  spoiler  is  nigh. 

*  The  poetical  name  of  Scotland. 


274  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Why  flames  the  far  summit  ?     Why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast  ? 
'T  is  the  fire  shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyry  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  heaven. 
0,  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might. 
Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements'  height, 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  bum  ; 
Ketum  to  thy  dwelling !  all  lonely  return  ! 
For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it  stood, 
And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood  ! 

4  Lochiel.    False  wizard,  avaunt !     I  have   marshalled 

my  clan  ; 
Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  bosoms  are  one  ! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their  blood  and  their  breath, 
And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the  shock  ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  wave  on  the  rock  I 
But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause, 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws ; 
When  her  bonneted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 
ClanEonald  the  dauntless  and  Moray  the  proud  ; 
All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array  — 

5  Seer.    Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day  ! 
For,  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal, 
But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal : 
'T  is  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore, 
And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 

I  tell  thee,  Culloden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 

With  the  blood-hounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive  king. 

Lo,  annointed  by  Heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 

Behold  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path  ! 

Now,  in  darkness  and  billows,  he  sweeps  from  my  sight :  =^ 

Kise !  rise !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight ! 


*  Alluding  to  the  perilous  adventures  and  final  escape  of  Charles,  after  the 
battle  of  CuUoden. 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  275 

*T  is  finished.     Their  thunders  are  hushed  on  the  moors, 

Culloden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores. 

But  where  is  the  iron-hound  prisoner  ?     Where  ? 

For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 

Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean-wave,  banished,  forlorn, 

Like  a  limb  from  his  country  cast  bleeding  and  torn  ? 

Ah,  no  !  for  a  darker  departure  is  near  ; 

The  war-drum  is  muffled,  and  black  is  the  bier ; 

His  death-bell  is  tolling  ;  0,  mercy,  dispel 

Yon  sight,  that  it  freezes  my  spirit  to  tell ! 

Life  flutters  convulsed  in  his  quivering  limbs, 

And  his  blood- streaming  nostril  in  agony  swims. 

Accursed  be  the  fagots  that  blaze  at  his  feet. 

Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown  ere  it  ceases  to  beat, 

With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale  — 

LocHiEL.    Down,  soothless  insulter!     I  trust  not  the 

tale. 
Though  my  perishing   ranks  should  be  strewed  in  their 

gore, 
Like  ocean-weeds  heaped  on  the  surf-beaten  shore, 
Lochiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains, 
While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains, 
Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low. 
With  his  back  to  the  field,  and  his  feet  to  the  foe ! 
And,  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name, 
Look  proudly  to  heaven  from  the  death-bed  of  fame. 


XCn.— THE   EXECUTION  OF   MONTEOSE. 

Aytouk. 

[William  Edmondstoune  Aytoun  was  born  in  the  county  of  Fife,  in 
Scotland,  in  1813.  He  was  called  to  the  Scotch  bar  in  1840,  and  in  1845  was 
elected  to  the  professorship  of  rhetoric  and  belles-lettres  in  the  University  of 
Edinburg-h,  which  he  still  holds.  He  has  been  a  prominent  contributor  to 
"Blackwood's  Magazine."  The  following  extract  is  from  the  "Lays  of  the 
Scotch  Cavaliers,"  a  collection  of  stirring  ballads  illustrating  the  history  of 
Scotland. 


276  hillard's  sixth  keader. 


James  Graham,  Marquis  of  Montrose,  was  executed  in  Edinburgh,  May  21, 
1650,  for  an  attempt  to  overthrow  the  power  of  the  commonwealth,  and  re- 
store Charles  IT.  The  ballad  is  a  narrative  of  the  event,  supposed  to  be  re- 
lated by  an  aged  Highlander,  who  had  followed  3Iontrose  throughout  his  cam- 
paigns, to  his  grandson,  Evan  Cameron.  Lochaber  is  a  district  of  Scotland  in 
the  southwestern  part  of  the  county  of  Inverness.  Dundee  is  a  seaport  town 
in  the  county  of  Forfar.  Inverlochy  was  a  castle  in  Inverness-shire.  Mon- 
trose was  betrayed  by  a  man  named  MacLeod  of  Assynt.  Dunedin  is  the  Gaelic 
name  for  Edinburgh.  Warristoun  was  Archibald  Johnston  of  "Warristoun, 
an  inveterate  enemy  of  Montrose.] 

Come  hither,  Evan  Cameron !  Come,  stand  beside  my  knee : 

I  hear  the  river  roaring  down  towards  the  wintry  sea ; 

There 's  shouting  on  the  mountain-side,  there 's  war  within  the  blast, 

Old  faces  look  upon  me,  old  forms  go  trooping  past ; 

I  hear  the  pibroch  wailing  amidst  the  din  of  fight, 

And  my  dim  soirit  wakes  again  upon  the  verge  of  night. 

^T  was  I  that  led  the  Highland  host  through  wild  Lochaber's  snows, 
What  time  the  plaided  clans  came  down  to  battle  with  Montrose. 
I  've  told  thee  how  the  Southrons  fell  beneath  the  broad  claymore, 
And  how  we  smote  the  Campbell  clan  by  Inverlochy's  shore. 
I  've  told  thee  how  we  swept  Dundee,  and  tamed  the  Lindsay's  pride ; 
But  never  have  I  told  thee  yet  how  the  Great  Marquis  died  ! 

A  traitor  sold  him  to  his  foes  ;  —  0  deed  of  deathless  shame  ! 
I  charge  thee,  boy,  if  e'er  thou  meet  with  one  of  Assynt's  name  - 
Be  it  upon  the  mountain's  side,  or  yet  within  the  glen, 
Stand  he  in  martial  gear  alone,  or  backed  by  armed  men  — 
Face  him,  as  thou  wouldst  face  the  man  who  wronged  thy  sire's  re- 
nown ; 
Remember  of  what  blood  thou  art,  and  strike  the  caitiff  down. 

They  brought  him  to  the  Watergate,  hard  bound  with  hempen  span. 
As  though  they  held  a  lion  there,  and  not  an  unarmed  man. 
They  set  him  high  upon  a  cart  —  the  hangman  rode  below  — 
They  drew  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  bared  his  noble  brow  : 
Then,  as  a  hound  is  slipped  from  leash,  they  cheered — the  common 

throng, 
And  blew  the  note  with  yell  and  shout,  and  bade  him  pass  along. 

But  when  he  came,  though  pale  and  wan,  he  looked  so  great  and  high. 
So  noble  was  his  manly  front,  so  calm  his  steadfast  eye,  — 
The  rabble  rout  forebore  to  shout,  and  each  man  held  his  breath. 
For  well  they  knew  the  hero's  soul  was  face  to  face  with  death. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  277" 

And  then  a  mournful  shudder  through  all  the  people  crept, 
And  some  that  came  to  scoflf  at  him,  now  turned  aside  and  wept. 

Had  I  been  there  with  sword  in  hand,  and  fifty  Camerons  by, 
That  day  through  high  Dunedin's  streets  had  pealed  the  slogan  cry. 
Not  all  their  troops  of  trampling  horse,  nor  might  of  mailed  men  — 
Not  all  the  rebels  in  the  south  had  borne  us  backwards  then ! 
Once  more  his  foot  on  Highland  heath  had  trod  as  free  as  air, 
Or  I,  and  all  who  bore  my  name,  been  laid  around  him  there. 

It  might  not  be.     They  placed  him  next  within  the  solemn  hall, 
Where  once  the  Scottish  kings  were  throned  amidst  their  nobles  all. 
But  there  was  dust  of  vulgar  feet  on  that  polluted  floor. 
And  perjured  traitors  filled  the  place  where  good  men  sate  before. 
"With  savage  glee  came  Warristoun  to  read  the  murderous  doom, 
And  then  uprose  the  great  Montrose  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Now  by  my  faith  as  belted  knight,  and  by  the  name  I  bear, 

And  by  the  bright  Saint  Andrew's  cross  that  waves  above  us  there  — 

Yea,  by  a  greater,  mightier  oath,  and  oh,  that  such  should  be  !  — 

By  that  dark  stream  of  royal  blood  that  lies  'twixt  you  and  me,  — 

I  have  not  sought  in  battle-field  a  wreath  of  such  renown, 

Nor  hoped  I,  on  my  dying  day,  to  win  a  martyr's  crown  I 

The  morning  daAvned  full  darkly,  the  rain  came  flashing  down. 
And  the  jagged  streak  of  the  levin-bolt  lit  up  the  gloomy  town : 
The  thunder  crashed  across  the  heaven,  the  fatal  hour  was  come. 
Yet  aye  broke  in,  with  muffled  beat,  the  'larum  of  the  drum. 
There  was  madness  on  the  earth  below,  and  anger  in  the  sky, 
And  young  and  old,  and  rich  and  poor,  came  forth  to  see  him  die. 

Ah  God !  that  ghastly  gibbet !  how  dismal 't  is  to  see 

The  great,  tall,  spectral  skeleton,  the  ladder,  and  the  tree  ! 

Hark  !  Hark  !  it  is  the  clash  of  arms,  the  bells  begin  to  toll  — 

He  is  coming  !  he  is  coming  I  God's  mercy  on  his  soul ! 

One  last  long  peal  of  thunder  —  the  clouds  are  cleared  away, 

And  the  glorious  sun  once  more  looks  down  amidst  the  dazzling  day. 

He  is  coming !  he  is  coming !  —  Like  a  bridegroom  from  his  room, 
Came  the  hero  from  his  prison  to  the  scaffold  and  the  doom. 
There  was  glory  on  his  forehead,  there  was  lustre  in  his  eye, 
And  he  never  walked  to  battle  more  proudly  than  to  die : 
24 


278  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

There  was  color  in  his  visage,  though  the  cheeks  of  all  were  wan, 
And  they  marvelled  as  they  saw  him  pass,  that  great  and  goodly  man ! 

A  beam  of  light  fell  o'er  him,  like  a  glory  round  the  shriven, 
And  he  climbed  the  lofty  ladder,  as  it  were  the  path  to  heaven. 
Then  came  a  flash  from  out  the  cloud,  and  a  stunning  thunder  roll. 
And  no  man  dared  to  look  aloft,  for  fear  was  on  every  soul. 
There  was  another  heavy  sound,  a  hush  and  then  a  groan  ; 
And  darkness  swept  across  the  sky  —  the  work  of  death  was  done  I 


XCIII.— EXECUTION  OF  MAEY,  QUEEN  OF   SCOTS. 

LiNGARD. 

[John  Lingard  was  born  in  Winchester,  England,  February  5, 1771,  and 
died  July  13,  1851.  He  was  a  clergyman  of  the  Konian  Catholic  faith.  The 
chief  literary  labor  of  his  life  was  his  "  History  of  England,"  from  the  earliest 
period  down  to  the  revolution  of  1688 ;  the  latest  edition  of  which  is  in  ten 
volumes,  octavo.  This  work  has  taken  a  hig-h  and  permanent  rank  in  the  his- 
torical literature  of  his  country.  The  style  is  simple,  correct,  and  manly,  with- 
out being  remarkable  for  beauty  or  eloquence.  The  chief  value  of  the  work 
consists  in  its  thorough  and  patient  research  into  the  original  sources  of  Eng- 
lish history.  How  far  it  is  impartial,  when  treating  upon  controverted  points, 
is  a  question  which  neither  Catholics  nor  Protestants  are  exactly  in  a  position 
to  answer.  Dr.  Lingard  was  a  sincere  and  conscientious  Catholic ;  his  tem- 
perament was  calm  and  judicial ;  and  if  he  betrays  any  bias  in  favor  of  his 
own  faith,  it  is,  perhaps,  no  more  than  that  unconscious  bias  which  always 
attends  genuine  conviction.  His  "  History,"  at  all  events,  should  be  carefully 
read  by  every  one  who  is  not  content  with  the  cheap  task  of  deciding  before  he 
hears  both  sides. 

)   Dr.  Lingard  also  wrote  °'^The  History  and  Antiquities  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
Church,"  and  some  manuals  of  religious  teaching. 

Mary  of  Scotland,  after  the  total  defeat  of  her  party  at  the  battle  of  Langside,' 
in  1568,  fled  to  England,  and  threw  herself  upon  the  protection  of  Elizabeth, 
queen  of  England,  by  whom,  however,  she  was  kept  a  prisoner  for  nineteen 
years.  She  was  then  tried  by  a  commission,  for  engaging  in  a  conspiracy 
against  the  life  of  Elizabeth,  and  condemned  to  death.  She  was  beheaded, 
February  8,  1587,  at  Fotheringay  Castle,  in  Northamptonshire ;  and  the  follow- 
ing is  a  description  of  her  execution.] 

In  the  midst  of  the  great  hall  of  the  castle  had  been 
raised  a  scaffold,  covered  with  black  serge  and  surrounded 
with  a  low  railing.  About  seven,  the  doors  were  thrown 
open ;  the  gentlemen  of  the  county  entered  with  their  at- 


^    279 

tendants ;  and  Paulet's  ••'  guard  augmented  tlie  number  to 
between  one  hundred  and  fifty  and  two  hundred  spectators. 
Before  eight,  a  message  was  sent  to  the  queen,  who  replied 
that  she  would  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  At  that  time, 
5  Andrews,  the  sheriff,  entered  the  oratory,  and  Mary  arose, 
taking  the  crucifix  from  the  altar  in  her  right,  and  carry- 
ing her  prayer-book  in  her  left,  hand.  Her  servants  were 
forbidden  to  follow;  they  insisted;  but  the  queen  bade 
them  to  be  content,  and  turning,  gave  them  her  blessing. 

10  They  received  it  on  their  knees,  some  kissing  her  hands, 

/fy  others  her  mantle.     The  door  closed ;    and  the  burst  of 

di^l  Jamentation  from  those  within  resounded  through  the  hall. 

Mary  Vas  now  joined  by  the  earl  and  her  keepers,  and 

descending  the  staircase,  found,  at  the  foot,  Melville,  the 

15  steward  of  her  household,  who,  for  several  weeks,  had  been 
excluded  from  her  presence.  This  old  and  faithful  servant 
threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and  wringing  his  hands  ex- 
claimed, "Ah,  madam,  unhappy  me!  was  ever  a  man  on 
earth  the  bearer  of  such  sorrow  as  I  shall  be,  when  I  report 

20  that  my  good  and  gracious  queen  and  mistress  was  be- 
headed in  England  !  "  Here  his  grief  impeded  his  utter- 
ance ;  and  Mary  replied,  "  Good  Melville,  cease  to  lament; 
thou  hast  rather  cause  to  joy  than  mourn ;  for  thou  shalt  see 
the  end  of  Mary  Stuart's  troubles.     Know  that  this  world 

25  is  but  vanity,  subject  to  more  sorrow  than  an  ocean  of  tears 
can  bewail.  But  I  pray  thee,  report  that  I  die  a  true 
woman  to  my  religion,  to  Scotland,  and  to  Trance.  May 
God  forgive  them  that  have  long  thirsted  for  my  blood,  as 
the  hart  doth  for  the  brooks  of  water.    0  God,  thou  art  the 

30  author  of  truth,  and  truth  itself.  Thou  knowest  the  in-j 
ward  chambers  of  my  thoughts,  and  that  I  always  wished 
the  union  of  England  and  Scotland.  Commend  me  to  my 
son,  and  tell  him  that  I  have  done  nothing  prejudicial  to 
the  dignity  or  independence  of  his  crown,  or  favorable  to 

*  Sir  Amias  Paulet  was  the  person  who  had  the  custody  of  Mary's! 
person. 


280  iiillard's  sixth  reader. 

the  pretended  superiority  of  our  enemies."  Then  bursting 
into  tears,  she  said,  "  Good  Melville,  farewell;  "  and  kiss- 
ing him,  "  once  again,  good  Melville,  farewell,  and  pray  for 
thy  mistress  and  thy  queen."  It  was  remarked  as  some- 
5  thing  extraordinary,  that  this  was  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  had  ever  been  known  to  address  a  person  with  the  pro- 
noun "  thou." 

The  procession  now  set  forward.     It  was  headed  by  the 
sheriflF  and  his  officers ;  next  followed  Paulet  and  Drury, 

10  and  the  Earls  of  Shrewsbury  and  Kent ;  and  lastly  came 
the  Scottish  queen,  with  Mellville  bearing  her  train.  She 
wore  the  richest  of  her  dresses  —  that  which  was  appro- 
priate to  the  rank  of  a  queen  dowager.  Her  step  was  firm, 
and  her  countenance  cheerful.     She  bore  without  shrinking 

15  the  gaze  of  the  spectators,  and  the  sight  of  the  scafibld, 
the  block,  and  the  executioner,  and  advanced  into  the  hall 
with  that  grace  and  majesty  which  she  had  so  often  dis- 
played in  her  happier  days,  and  in  the  palace  of  her  fathers. 
To  aid  her  as  she  mounted  the  scafi"old,  Paulet  offered 

20  his  arm.  "I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mary;  "it  is  the  last 
trouble  I  shall  give  you,  and  the  most  acceptable  service 
you  have  ever  rendered  me." 

The  queen  seated  herself  on  a  stool  which  was  prepared 
for  her.     On  her  right  stood  the  two  earls ;  on  the  left  the 

25  sheriiF  and  Beal,  the  clerk  of  the  council ;  in  front,  the 

executioner  from  the  Tower,  in  a  suit  of  black  velvet,  with 

his  assistant,  also  clad  in  black.     The  warrant  was  read, 

and  Mary,  in  an  audible  voice,  addressed  the  assembly. 

She   would  have  them   recollect  that  she  was  a  sov- 

30  ereign  princess,  not  subject  to  the  parliament  of  England, 
but  brought  there  to  sufi^er  by  injustice  and  violence.  She, 
however,  thanked  her  God  that  he  had  given  her  this  op- 
portunity of  publicly  professing  her  religion,  and  of  declar- 
ing, as  she  had  often  before  declared,  that  she  had  never 

35  imagined,  nor  compassed,  nor  consented  to,  the  death  of 
the  English  queen,  nor  ever  sought  the  least  harm  to  her 


hillard's  sixth  headepw.  281 

person.  After  her  death,  many  things,  which  were  then 
buried  in  darkness,  would  come  to  light.  But  she  pardoned 
from  her  heart  all  her  enemies,  nor  should  her  tongue  utter 
that  which  might  turn  to  their  prejudice. 
5  Here  she  was  interrupted  by  Dr.  Fletcher,  Dean  of  Pe- 
terborough, who,  having  caught  her  eye,  began  to  preach, 
and  under  that  cover,  perhaps  through  motives  of  zeal,  con- 
trived to  insult  the  feelings  of  the  unfortunate  sufferer. 
Mary  repeatedly  desired  him  not  to  trouble  himself  and 

10  her.  He  persisted ;  she  turned  aside.  He  made  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  scaffold,  and  again  addressed  her  in  front.  An 
end  was  put  to  this  extraordinary  scene  by  the  Earl  of 
Shrewsbury,  who  ordered  him  to  pray. 

His  prayer  was  the  echo  of  his  sermon  ;  but  Mary  heard 

15  him  not.  She  was  employed  at  the  time  in  her  devotions, 
repeating  with  a  loud  voice,  and  in  the  Latin  language, 
passages  from  the  book  of  Psalms ;  and  after  the  dean  was 
reduced  to  silence,  a  prayer  in  French,  in  which  she  begged 
of  God  to  pardon  her  sins,  declared  that  she  forgave  her 

20  enemies,  and  protested  that  she  was  innocent  of  ever  con- 
senting, in  wish  or  deed,  to  the  death  of  her  English  sister. 
She  then  prayed  in  English  for  Christ's  afflicted  church, 
for  her  son  James,  and  for  queen  Elizabeth,  and  in  conclu- 
sion, holding  up  the  crucifix,  exclaimed,  "  As  thy  arms,  O 

25  God,  were  stretched  out  upon  the  cross,  so  receive  me  into 
the  arms  of  thy  mercy,  and  forgive  my  sins." 

When  her  maids,  bathed  in  tears,  began  to  disrobe  their 
mistress,  the  executioners,  fearing  the  loss  of  their  usual 
perquisites,  hastily  interfered.     The  queen   remonstrated, 

30  but  instantly  submitted  to  their  rudeness,  observing  to  the 
earls,  with  a  smile,  that  she  was  not  accustomed  to  employ 
such  grooms,  or  to  undress  in  the  presence  of  so  numerous 
a  company. 

Her  servants,  at  the  sight  of  their  sovereign  in  this  la- 

35  mentable  state,  could  not  suppress  their  feelings ;  but  Mary, 
putting  her  finger  to  her  lips,  commanded  silence,  gave 
24* 


282  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

them  her  blessing,  and  solicited  their  prayers.  She  then 
seated  herself  again.  Kennedy,  taking  from  her  a  hand- 
kerchief edged  with  gold,  pinned  it  over  her  eyes ;  the 
executioners,  holding  her  by  the  arms,  led  her  to  the  block ; 
5  and  the  queen,  kneeling  down,  said  repeatedly,  with  a  firm 
voice,  "  Into  thy  hands,  0  Lord,  I  commend  my  spirit." 

But  the  sobs  and  groans  of  the  spectators  disconcerted 
the  headsman.  He  trembled,  missed  his  aim,  and  inflicted 
a  deep  wound  in  the  lower  part  of  the  skulL  The  queen 
10  remained  motionless ;  and  at  the  third  stroke  her  head  was 
severed  from  her  body.  When  the  executioner  held  it  up, 
the  muscles  of  the  face  were  so  strongly  convulsed,  that 
the  features  could  not  be  recognized.  He  cried  as  usual, 
"  God  save  queen  Elizabeth." 
15  "So  perish  all  her  enemies!  "  subjoined  the  Dean  of 
Peterborough. 

"So  perish  all  the  enemies  of  the  gospel !  "  exclaimed, 
in  a  still  louder  tone,  the  fanatical  Earl  of  Kent. 

Not  a  voice  was  heard  to  cry  amen.     Party  feeling  was 
absorbed  in  admiration  and  pity. 


XCIV.— -THE   SHIPWEECK. 
Wilson. 

[John  Wilson  was  born  May  19, 1785,  at  Paisley,  in  Scotland,  and  died  April 
3, 1854.  In  1812  he  published  a  poem  called  the  "  Isle  of  Talms,"  which  won 
high,  though  not  wide,  admiration,  for  its  tenderness  of  feeling  and  beauty  of 
sentiment.  In  1816  there  appeared  from  his  pen  a  volume  containing  "  Tlie 
City  of  the  Plague,"  a  dramatic  poem,  and  several  miscellaneous  pieces  in  verse. 
In  1820  he  was  appointed  professor  of  moral  philosophy  in  the  University  of 
Edinburgh,  succeeding  Dr.  Thomas  Brown,  In  1822  he  published,  anonymously, 
a  volume  called  "  The  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life,"  containing  sev- 
eral stories  and  sketches  illustrating  the  traits  and  manners  of  the  rural  popu- 
lation of  Scotland.  A  novel  in  the  same  style,  called  "  Margaret  Lyndsay," 
was  published  by  him  in  1823.  But  his  ablest  and  most  characteristic  produc- 
tions are  those  which  he  wrote  from  time  to  time  for  "  Blackwood's  (Edinburgh) 
Magazine." 

His  intellectual  powers  were  accompanied  and  enforced  by  the  iinest  physical 
gifts.    His  form  was  cast  in  the  noblest  mould  of  manly  beauty.    He  was  a 


hillard's  sixth  eeader.  283 

keen  sportsman,  and  excelled  in  all  athletic  exercises.  In  his  youth  and  early 
manhood,  there  was  a  dash  of  wildness  and  eccentricity  about  him,  which  in-  . 
creased  the  interest  inspired  by  his  brilliant  genius.  In  the  collected  edition 
of  his  works,  published  in  twelv^e  volumes,  since  his  death,  his  contributions 
to  "  Blackwood's  Magazine  "  occupy  ten  of  the  volumes,  under  the  titles  of 
•'  Noctes  Ambrosianae,"  in  four  volumes, "  Essays,  Critical  and  Imaginative,"  in 
four  volumes,  and  the  "  Recreations  of  Christopher  North,"  in  two  volumes.  In 
these  productions  the  genius  of  Wilson  appears  in  its  full  strength  —  rich,  exu- 
berant, boundless,  and  overflowing.  Wit  the  most  dashing  and  reckless,  poetry 
the  most  lavish,  the  most  glowing  eloquence,  the  finest  descriptive  power,  the 
most  genuine  pathos  and  tenderness,  combine  to  throw  their  attractions  over 
his  pages.  His  thoughts,  images,  and  illustrations  stream  forth  with  the  power 
and  rapidity  of  a  mountain  torrent.  He  is  remarkable  especially  for  descriptive 
genius  and  critical  skill.  The  characteristic  features  of  Scottish  scenery  have 
never  been  delineated  in  verse  with  more  true  poetical  feeling  and  quick  sensi- 
bility than  in  the  prose  of  Wilson.  He  is  not  a  poet  of  the  first  class,  but  as  a 
critic  of  poetry  he  has  no  superior.  His  principles  of  poetical  criticism  are 
philosophically  correct ;  and  they  are  applied  under  the  guidance  of  the  finest 
appreciative  faculty. 
The  following  extract  is  from  "  The  Isle  of  Palms."] 

Her  giant  form 

O'er  wrathful  surge,  through  blackening  storm, 

Majestically  calm,  would  go, 

Mid  the  deep  darkness,  white  as  snow  ! 
5  But  gentler  now  the  small  waves  glide 

Like  playful  lambs  o'er  a  mountain's  side. 

So  stately  her  bearing,  so  proud  her  array, 

The  main  she  will  traverse  forever  and  aye. 

Many  ports  will  exult  at  the  gleam  of  her  mast ! 
10  —  Hush !  hush !  thou  vain  dreamer !  this  hour  is  her  last 

Five  hundred  souls  in  one  instant  of  dread 

Are  hurried  o'er  the  deck  ; 

And  fast  the  miserable  ship 

Becomes  a  lifeless  wreck. 
15  Her  keel  hath  struck  on  a  hidden  rock, 

Her  planks  are  torn  asunder, 

And  down  come  her  masts  with  a  reeling  shock, 

And  a  hideous  crash  like  thunder. 

Her  sails  are  draggled  in  the  brine, 
20  That  gladdened  late  the  skies, 

And  her  pendant  that  kissed  the  fair  moonshine 

Down  many  a  fathom  lies. 


284  hillard's  sixth  readeb. 

Her  beauteous  sides,  whose  rainbow  hues 

Grleamed  softly  from  below, 

And  flung  a  warm  and  sunny  flush 

O'er  the  wreaths  of  murmuring  snow, 
6     To  the  coral  rocks  are  hurrying  down. 

To  sleep  amid  colors  as  bright  as  their  own. 
Oh  !  many  a  dream  was  in  the  ship 

An  hour  before  her  death  ; 

And  sights  of  home  with  sighs  disturbed 
10  The  sleeper's  long-drawn  breath. 

Instead  of  the  murmur  of  the  sea, 

The  sailor  heard  the  humming  tree,     ' 

Alive  through  all  its  leaves, 

The  hum  of  the  spreading  sycamore 
15  That  grows  before  his  cottage  door, 

And  the  swallow's  song  in  the  eaves. 

His  arms  enclosed  a  blooming  boy. 

Who  listened  with  tears  of  sorrow  and  joy 

To  the  dangers  his  father  had  passed ; 
20  And  his  wife  —  by  turns  she  wept  and  smiled, 

As  she  looked  on  the  father  of  her  child 

Eeturned  to  her  heart  at  last. 

—  He  wakes  at  the  vessel's  sudden  roll, 

And  the  rush  of  waters  is  in  his  soul. 
26  Astounded,  the  reeling  deck  he  paces. 

Mid  hurrying  forms  and  ghastly  faces ;  — 

The  whole  ship's  creW  are  there : 

Wailings  around  and  overhead, 

Brave  spirits  stupefied  or  dead, 
30  And  madness  and  despair. 

Now  is  the  ocean's  bosom  bare. 

Unbroken  as  the  floating  air  ; 

The  ship  hath  melted  quite  away, 

Like  a  struggling  dream  at  break  of  day. 
35  No  image  meets  my  wandering  eye, 

But  the  new-risen  sun  and  the  sunny  sky. 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  285 

Though  the  night-shades  are  gone,  yet  a  vapor  dull 
Bedims  the  waves  so  beautiful ; 
While  a  low  and  melancholy  moan 
Mourns  for  the  glory  that  hath  flown. 


XCV.  — THE  CONTKASTS  OF  ALPINE   SCENEKY. 
Byron. 

1  Adieu  to  thee,  fair  Ehine  !  how  long,  delighted, 

The  stranger  fain  would  linger  on  his  way  ! 
Thine  is  a  scene  alike  where  souls  united 

Or  lonely  Contemplation  thus  might  stray  ; 

And  could  the  ceaseless  vultures  cease  to  prey 
On  self-condemning  bosoms,  it  were  here. 

Where  Nature,  nor  too  sombre,  nor  too  gay, 
W^ild,  but  not  rude,  awful,  yet  not  austere, 
Is  to  the  mellow  Earth  as  Autumn  to  the  year. 

2  Adieu  to  thee  again  !  a  vain  adieu  ! 

There  can  be  no  farewell  to  scenes  like  thine ; 
The  mind  is  colored  by  thine  every  hue ; 

And  if  reluctantly  the  eyes  resign 

Their  cherished  gaze  upon  thee,  lovely  Ehine, 
'T  is  with  the  thankful  glance  of  parting  praise : 

More  mighty  spots  may  rise  —  more  glaring  shine. 
But  none  unite,  in^ne  attaching  maze, 
The  brilliant,  fair,  and  soft,  —  the  glories  of  old  days. 

3  But  these  recede.     Above  me  are  the  Alps, 

The  palaces  of  Nature,  whose  vast  walls 
Have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their  snowy  scalps, 

And  throned  Eternity  in  icy  halls 

Of  cold  sublimity,  where  forms  and  falls 
The  avalanche  —  the  thunder-bolt  of  snow  ! 

All  that  expands  the  spirit,  yet  appals, 


286  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Gather  around  these  summits,  as  to  show 
How  Earth  may  pierce  to  Heayen,  yet  leave  vain  man  below. 

Clear,  placid  Leman  !  thy  contrasted  lake 

With-  the  wide  world  I  've  dwelt  in  is  a  thing 
"Which  warns  me,  with  its  stillness,  to  forsake 

Earth's  troubled  waters  for  a  purer  spring. 

This  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing 
To  waft  me  from  distraction  :  once  I  loved 

Torn  ocean's  roar  ;  but  thy  soft  murmuring 
Sounds  sweet  as  if  a  sister's  voice  reproved 
That  I  with  stern  delights  should  e'er  have  been  so  moved. 

5  It  is  the  hush  of  night ;  and  all  between 

Thy  margin  and  the  mountains,  dusk,  yet  clear, 
Mellowed  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen, 

Save  darkened  Jura,  whose  capped  heights  appear 

Precipitously  steep  ;  and  drawing  near. 
There  breathes  a  living  fragrance  from  the  shore. 

Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood  ;  on  the  ear 
Drops  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar. 
Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-night  carol  more  ; 

6  He  is  an  evening  reveller,  who  makes 

His  life  an  infancy,  and  sings  his  fill ; 
At  intervals,  some  bird  from  out  the  brakes, 

Starts  into  voice  a  moment,  then  is  still. 

There  seems  a  floating  whisper  on  the  hill ;  — 
But  that  is  fancy  ;  for  the  starlight  dews 

All  silently  their  tears  of  love  distil. 
Weeping  themselves  away  till  they  infuse 
Deep  into  Nature's  breast  the  spirit  of  her  hues. 

7  Ye  stars  !  which  are  the  poetry  of  heaven, 

If,  in  your  bright  leaves,  we  would  read  the  fate 
Of  men  and  empires,  —  't  is  to  be  forgiven, 


HILLARD*S    SIXTH   READER.  287 

That  in  our  aspirations  to  be  great, 
Our  destinies  o'erleap  their  mortal  state, 
And  claim  a  kindred  with  you ;  for  ye  are 

A  beauty  and  a  mystery,  and  create 
In  us  such  love  and  reverence  from  afar, 
That  fortune,  fame,  power,  life,  have  named  themselves  a  star. 

8  The  sky  is  changed  !  and  such  a  change  !     Oh,  Night 

And  Storm  and  Darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 

Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman  !     Far  along, 

From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 
Leaps  the  live  thunder  !  —  not  from  one  lone  cloud. 

But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue ; 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps  who  call  to  her  aloud ! 

9  And  this  is  in  the  night :  —  Most  glorious  night ; 

Thou  wert  not  sent  for  slumber  ;  let  me  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight,  — 

A  portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee  ! 

How  the  lit  lake  shines,  — a  phosphoric  sea— • 
And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth  ! 

And  now  again  't  is  black  —  and  now,  the  glee 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain  mirth. 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o'er  a  young  earthquake's  birth. 

10     Sky,  mountains,  river,  winds,  lake,  lightnings !  ye, 
With  night  and  clouds  and  thunder,  and  a  soul 
To  make  these  felt  and  feeling,  well  may  be 

Things  that  have  made  me  watchful :  —  the  far  roll 
Of  your  departing  voices  is  the  knell 
Of  what  in  me  is  sleepless,  —  if  I  rest. 

But  where,  of  ye,  0  tempests  !  is  the  goal  ? 
Are  ye  like  those  within  the  human  breast  ? 
Or  do  ye  find,  at  length,  like  eagles,  some  high  nest  ? 


HILLARD'S   SIXTH   READER. 

1 1     The  mom  is  up  again,  the  dewy  mom, 

With  breath  all  incense,  and  with  cheek  all  bloom, 
Laughing  the  clouds  away,  with  playful  scorn. 
And  living  as  if  earth  contained  no  tomb,  — 
And  glowing  into  day  :  we  may  resume 
The  march  of  our  existence :  and  thus  I, 

Still  on  thy  shores,  fair  Leman,  may  find  room. 
And  food  for  meditation,  nor  pass  by 
Much  that  may  give  us  pause,  if  pondered  fittingly. 


kiii 


XCVL  — WEBSTER'S    GREATEST    PARLIAMENTARY 

EFFORT. 

Everett.  *    ' 

[The  following  extract  is  from  a  speech  delivered  in  Boston  at  a  dinner  on 
the  18th  of  January,  185(5,  the  anniversary  of  the  birthday  of  Daniel  Webster. 
Conde  was  a  celebrated  French  general  of  the  seventeenth  century.  He  de- 
feated the  Spaniards  at  the  battle  of  Rocroi,  May.  19, 1643.] 

It  was  my  happiness,  at  Mr.  Webster's  request,  to  pass 
a  part  of  the  evening  of  the  25th  January,  1830,  with 
him ;  and  he  went  over  to  me,  from  a  very  concise  brief, 
the  main  topics  of  the  speech  prepared  for  the  following 
5  day,  —  the  second  speech  on  Foot's  resolution,  —  which  he 
accounted  the  greatest  of  his  parliamentary  efforts.  ^12 
Intense  anticipation  awaited  that  effort,  both  at  Wash- 
ington and  throughout  the  country.  A  pretty  formidable 
personal  attack  was  to  be  repelled  ;  New  England  was  to 

10  be  vindicated  against  elaborate  disparagement ;  and,  more 
than  all,  the  true  theory  of  the  constitution,  as  heretofore 
generally  understood,  was  to  be  maintained  against  a  new 
interpretation,  devised  by  perhaps  the  acutest  logician  in 
the  country  ;  asserted  with  equal  confidence  and  fervor ; 

15  and  menacing  a  revolution  in  the  government.  Never  had 
a  public  speaker  a  harder  task  to  perform  ;  and  except  on 
the  last  great  topic,  which  undoubtedly  was  familiar  to  his 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  289 

liabitual  contemplations,  his  opportunity  for  preparation 
had  been  most  inconsiderable,  for  the  argument  of  his 
accomplished  opponent  had  been  concluded  but  the  day 
before  the  reply  was  to  be  made. 
5  I  sat  an  hour  and  a  half  with  Mr.  Webster  the  evening 
before  this  great  eflPort.  The  impassioned  parts  of  his 
speech,  and  those  in  which  the  personalities  of  his  antago- 
nist were  retorted,  were  hardly  indicated  in  his  prepared 
brief. 

10  So  calm  and  tranquil  was  he,  so  entirely  at  ease, 
and  free  from  that  nervous  excitement  which  is  almost 
unavoidable,  so  near  the  moment  which  is  to  put  the  whole 
man  to  the  proof,  that  I  was  tempted,  absurdly  enough,  to 
think  him  not  sufficiently  aware  of  the  magnitude  of  the 

15  occasion.  I  ventured  even  to  intimate  to  him,  that  what 
he  was  to  say  the  next  day  would,  in  a  fortnight's  time, 
be  read  by  every  grown  man  in  the  country.  But  I  soon 
perceived  that  his  calmness  was  the  repose  of  conscious 
power.    The  battle  had  been  fought  and  won  within,  upon 

20  the  broad  field  of  his  own  capacious  mind  ;  for  it  was  Mr. 
Webster's  habit  first  to  state  to  himself  his  opponent's  ar- 
gument in  its  utmost  strength,  and  having  overthrown  it 
in  that  form,  he  feared  the  efi"orts  of  no  other  antagonist. 
Hence  it  came  to  pass  that  he  was  never  taken  by  sur- 

25  prise,  by  any  turn  of  the  discussion. 

Besides,  the  moment  and  the  occasion  were  too  impor- 
tant for  trepidation.  A  surgeon  might  as  well  be  nervous, 
who  is  going  to  cut  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  a  great  ar- 
tery.    He  was  not  only  at  ease,  but  sportive  and  full  of 

SO  anecdote ;  and,  as  he  told  the  senate  playfully  the  next 
day,  he  slept  soundly  that  night  on  the  formidable  assault 
of  his  accomplished  adversary.  So  the  great  Conde  slept 
on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Bocroi ;  so  Alexander  slept 
on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Arbela ;  and  so  they  awoke 

35  to  deeds  of  immortal  fame. 

As  I  saw  him  in  the  evening,  (if  I  may  borrow  an  illus- 
25 


290  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

tration  from  his  favorite  amusement,)  he  was  as  uncon- 
cerned  and  as  free  of  spirit  as  some  here  have  seen  him, 
while  floating  in  his  flshing-boat  along  a  hazy  shor^,  gently 
rocking  on  the  tranquil  tide,  dropping  his  line  here  and 
5  there,  with  the  varying  fortune  of  the  sport. 

The  next  morning  he  was  like  some  mighty  admiral, 
dark  and  terrible,  casting  the  long  shadow  of  his  frowning 
tiers  far  over  the  sea,  that  seemed  to  sink  beneath  him ; 
his  broad  pendant  streaming  at  the  main,  the  stars  and 
10  stripes  at  the  fore,  the  mizzen,  and  the  peak ;  and  bearing 
down  like  a  tempest  upon  his  antagonist,  with  all  his 
canvas  strained  to  the  wind,  and  all  his  thunders  roar- 
ing from  his  broadsides. 


XCVII  — THE   WIDOW   OF   GLENCOE.  w 

Aytoun. 
[In  the  month  of  February,  1692,  a  number  of  persons  of  the  clan  of  Mac- 
donald,  residing  In  Glencoe,  a  glen  on  the  western  coast  of  Scotland,  were 
cruelly  and  treacherously  put  to  death,  on  the  ground  that  their  chief  had  not 
taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  government  of  King  William  within  the 
time  prescribed  by  his  proclamation.  A  full  and  interesting  account  of  the 
massacre  may  be  found  in  Macaulay's  "  History  of  England."  The  following 
poem  is  supposed  to  be  spoken  by  the  widow  of  one  of  the  victims.  The 
captain  of  the  company  of  soldiers  by  whom  the  massacre  was  perpetrated, 
was  Campbell  of  Glenlyon.  "  The  dauntless  Graeme  "  was  the  Marquis  of 
Montrose.] 

Do  not  lift  him  from  the  bracken,  leave  him  lying  where  he  fell — 
Better  bier  ye  cannot  fashion :  none  beseems  him  half  so  well 
As  the  bare  and  broken  heather,  and  the  hard  and  trampled  sod, 
"Whence  his  angry  soul  ascended  to  the  judgment-seat  of  God ! 
"Winding-sheet  we  cannot  give  him  —  seek  no  mantle  for  the  dead, 
Save  the  cold  and  spotless  covering  showered  from  heaven  upon  his 

head. 
Leave  his  broadsword  as  we  found  it,  rent  and  broken  with  the  blow 
That,  before  he  died,  avenged  him  on  the  foremost  of  the  foe. 
Leave  the  blood  upon  his  bosom  —  wash  not  off  that  sacred  stain ; 
.yLet  it  stiffen  on  the  tartan,  let  his  wounds  unclosed  remain, 
Till  the  day  when  he  shall  show  them  at  the  throne  of  God  on  high, 
When  the  murderer  and  the*  murdered  meet  before  their  Judge's  eye. 


HILLARD*S    SIXTH   READER.  291 

Nay  —  ye  should  not  weep,  my  children  I  leave  it  to  the  faint  and 

weak; 
Sobs  are  but  a  -vroman's  weapons  — tears  befit  a  maiden's  cheek. 
Weep  not,  children  of  Macdonald !  weep  not  thou,  his  orphan  heir ; 
Not  in  shame,  but  stainless  honor,  lies  thy  slaughtered  father  there. 
Weep  not  —  but  when  years  are  over,  and  thine  arm  is  strong  and 

sure. 
And  thy  foot  is  swift  and  steady  on  the  mountain  and  the  muir, 
Let  thy  heart  be  hard  as  iron,  and  thy  wrath  as  fierce  as  fire, 
Till  the  hour  when  vengeance  cometh  for  the  race  that  slew  thy  sire ! 
Till  in  deep  and  dark  Glenlyon  rise  a  louder  shriek  of  woe, 
Than  at  midnight,  from  their  eyry,  scared  the  eagles  of  Glencoe  ; 
Louder  than  the  screams  that  mingled  with  the  howling  of  the  blast. 
When  the  murderers'  steel  was  clashing,  and  the  fires  were  rising 

fast ; 
When  thy  noble  father  bounded  to  the  rescue  of  his  men. 
And  the  slogan  of  our  kindred  pealed  throughout  the  startled  glen  ; 
When  the  herd  of  frantic  women  stumbled  through  the  midnight 

snow, 
With  their  fathers'  houses  blazing,  and  their  dearest  dead  below ! 
Oh,  the  horror  of  the  tempest,  as  the  flashing  drift  was  blown. 
Crimsoned  with  the  conflagration,  and  the  roofs  went  thundering 

down ! 
Oh,  the  prayers,  the  prayers  and  curses,  that  together  winged  their 

flight 
From  the  maddened  hearts  of  many,  through  that  long  and  woful 

night !  — 
Till  the  fires  began  to  dwindle,  and  the  shots  grew  faint  and  few. 
And  we  heard  the  foeman's  challenge  only  in  a  far  halloo  : 
Till  the  silence  once  more  settled  o'er  the  gorges  of  the  glen. 
Broken  only  by  the  Cona  plunging  through  its  naked  den. 
Slowly  from  the  mountain  summit  was  the  drifting  veil  withdrawn. 
And  the  ghastly  valley  glimmered  in  the  gray  December  dawn. 
Better  had  the  morning  never  dawned  upon  our  dark  despair  I 
Black  amidst  the  common  whiteness  rose  the  spectral  ruins  there  : 
But  the  sight  of  these  was  nothing  more  than  wrings  the  wild  dove's 

breast. 
When  she  searches  for  her  offspring  round  the  relics  of  her  nest. 
For  in  many  a  spot  the  tartan  peered  above  the  wintry  heap. 
Marking  where  a  dead  Macdonald  lay  within  his  frozen  sleep. 
Tremblingly  we  scooped  the  covering  from  each  kindngd  victim's 

head. 
And  the  living  lips  were  burning  on  the  cold  ones  of  the  dead. 


2^2  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

And  I  left  them  with  their  dearest—  dearest  charge  had  every  one— 
Left  the  maiden  with  her  lover,  left  the  mother  with  her  son. 
I  alone  of  all  was  mateless  —  far  more  wretched  I  than  they, 
For  the  snow  would  not  discover  where  my  lord  and  husband  lay. 
But  I  wandered  up  the  valley,  till  I  found  him  lying  low. 
With  the  gash  upon  his  bosom,  and  the  frown  upon  his  brow  — 
Till  I  found  him  lying  murdered  where  he  wooed  me  long  ago  I 

Woman's  weakness  shall  not  shame  me  —  why  should  I  have  tears 

to  shed  ? 
Could  I  rain  them  down  like  water,  O  my  hero !  on  thy  head  — 
Could  the  cry  of  lamentation  wake  thee  from  thy  silent  sleep. 
Could  it  set  thy  heart  a-throbbing,  it  were  mine  to  wail  and  weep ! 
But  I  will  not  waste  my  sorrow,  lest  the  Campbell  women  say 
That  the  daughters  of  Clanranald  are  as  weak  and  frail  as  they. 
I  had  wept  thee,  hadst  thou  fallen,  like  our  fathers,  on  thy  shield, 
When  a  host  of  English  foemen  camped  upon  a  Scottish  field  — 
I  had  mourned  thee,  hadst  thou  perished  with  the  foremost  of  his 

name, 
When  the  valiant  and  the  noble  died  around  the  dauntless  Graeme ! 
But  I  will  not  wrong  thee,  husband,  with  my  unavailing  cries, 
Whilst  thy  cold  and  mangled  body,  stricken  by  the  traitor,  lies  ; 
Whilst  he  counts  the  gold  and  glory  that  this  hideous  night  has  won, 
And  his  heart  is  big  with  triumph  at  the  murder  he  has  done. 
Other  eyes  than  mine  shall  glisten,  other  hearts  be  rent  in  twain, 
Ere  the  heath-bells  on  thy  hillock  wither  in  the  autumn  rain. 
Then  I  '11  seek  thee  where  thou  sleepest,  and  I  '11  veil  my  weary 

head, 
Praying  for  a  place  beside  thee,  dearer  than  my  bridal-bed  : 
And  I  '11  give  thee  tears,  my  husband,  if  the  tears  remain  to  me, 
When  the  widows  of  the  foeman  cry  the  coronach  for  thee  ! 


XCVIII.  — THE    SWISS   PATEIOT. 

Knowles. 

[James  ShEbidax  Knowles  was  born  in  Cork,  Ireland,  in  1784,  and  diec 
in  1862.  He  was  the  author  of  "  The  Hunchback,"  "  Virginius,"  "  Willian 
Tell,"  "  The  Wife,"  and  several  other  plays,  some  of  which  have  been  highl) 
successful.  He  was  originally  an  actor  and  teacher  of  elocution,  but  in  his  lat 
ter  years  he  was  a  zealous  and  eloquent  preacher  of  the  Baptist  denomination 

The  following  extract  is  from  "  William  Tell,"  a  play  founded  on  the  leading 


iiillard's  sixth  reader.  WZ 

Incidents  in  the  life  of  the  Swiss  patriot  of  that  name.  Geslcr,  (pronounced 
Ges'ler,)  is  the  Austrian  governor  of  Switzerland,  and  Sarnem  one  of  his 
officers,] 

[WILLIAM    TELL,    ALBERT,    AND   GESLER.] 

Gesler.    What  is  thy  name  ? 
Tell.    My  name  ? 
It  matters  not  to  keep  it  from  thee  now :  — 
My  name  is  Tell. 
5       Ges.    Tell!— William  Tell? 
Tell.    The  same. 

Ges.   What !  he  so  famed  'bove  all  his  countrymen 
ror  guiding  o'er  the  stormy  lake  the  boat  ? 
And  such  a  master  of  his  bow,  't  is  said 
10  His  arrows  never  miss !  —  Indeed  —  I  '11  take 

Exquisite  vengeance  !  —  Mark  !  I  '11  spare  thy  life  — 
Thy  boy's  too  —  both  of  you  are  free  —  on  one 
Condition. 

Tell.    Name  it. 
15       Ges.    I  would  see  you  make 

A  trial  of  your  skill  with  that  same  bow 
You  shoot  so  well  with. 

Tell.    Name  the  trial  you 
Would  have  me  make. 
20       Ges.    You  look  upon  your  boy 

As  though  instinctively  you  guessed  it. 

Tell.    Look  upon  my  boy  !  What  mean  you  ?  Look  upoA 
My  boy  as  though  I  guessed  it !  —  Guessed  the  trial 
You  'd  have  me  make  !  —  Guessed  it 
25  Instinctively  !  You  do  not  mean  —  no  —  no  — 
You  would  not  have  me  make  a  trial  of 
My  skill  upon  my  child  !  —  Impossible ! 
I  do  not  guess  your  meaning. 
Ges.    I  would  see 
30  Thee  hit  an  apple  at  the  distance  of 
A  hundred  paces. 

Tell.    Is  my  boy  to  hold  it  ? 
25*  . 


294  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Ges.   No. 

Tell.    No  !  —  1 11  send  the  arrow  through  the  core  I 

Ges.    It  is  to  rest  upon  his  head. 

Tell.    Great  Heaven,  you  hear  him  ! 
5       Ges.    Thou  dost  hear  the  choice  I  give  — 
Such  trial  of  the  skill  thou  art  master  of, 
Or  death  to  both  of  you ;  not  otherwise 
To  be  escaped. 

Tell.    0  monster ! 
10       Ges.    Wilt  thou  do  it? 

Albert.    He  will !  he  will ! 

Tell.    Ferocious  monster  !  —  Make 
A  father  murder  his  own  child. 

Ges.    Takeoff 
15  His  chains,  if  he  consent. 

Tell.    With  his  own  hand  I 

Ges.   Does  he  consent  ? 

Alb.    He  does.     {^Gesler  signs  to  his  officers,  who  proceed 
to  take  off  TelVs  chains.     Tell  all  the  time  unconscious  what 
20  they  do.'] 

Tell.    With  his  own  hand ! 
Murder  his  child  with  his  own  hand  —  This  hand ! 
The  hand  I  've  led  him,  when  an  infant,  by !  — 
'T  is  beyond  horror  —  't  is  most  horrible. 
25  Amazement !   [^His  chains  fall  off.]     What 's  that  you  've 
done  to  me. 
Villains  !  put  on  my  chains  again.     My  hands 
Are  free  from  blood,  and  have  no  gust  for  it, 
That  they  should  drink  my  child's  !  Here !  here !  I  '11  not 
Murder  my  boy  for  Gesler. 
30       Alb.    Father  —  father! 

You  will  not  hit  me,  father !  — 

Tell.    Hit  thee  !  —  Send 
The  arrow  through  thy  brain  —  or,  missing  that, 
Shoot  out  an  eye  —  or,  if  thine  eye  escape. 
Mangle  the  cheek  I  've  seen  thy  mother's  lips 


hillaed's  "sixth  reader.  295 

Cover  with  kisses !  —  Hit  thee  —  hit  a  hair 
Of  thee,  and  cleave  thy  mother's  heart  — 

Ges.  Dost  thou  consent  ? 

Tell.    Give  me  my  how  and  quiver. 
5       Ges.    Tor  what  ? 

Tell.    To  shoot  my  boy ! 

Alb.    No,  father  —  no  ! 
To  save  me !  —  You  '11  be  sure  to  hit  the  apple— 
Will  you  not  save  me,  father  ? 
10       Tell.    Lead  me  forth  — 
I  '11  make  the  trial ! 

Alb.    Thank  you ! 

Tell.    Thank  me  !     Do 
You  know  for  what?  — I  will  not  make  the  trial, 
15  To  take  him  to  his  mother  in  my  arms. 
And  lay  him  down  a  corpse  before  her  ! 

Ges.    Then  he  dies  this  moment —  and  you  certainly 
Do  murder  him  whose  life  you  have  a  chance 
To  save,  and  will  not  use  it. 
20       Tell.    Well  —  I  '11  do  it :  I  '11  make  the  trial 

Alb.    Father  — 

Tell.    Speak  not  to  me : 
Let  me  not  hear  thy  voice  —  Thou  must  be  dumb ; 
And  so  should  all  things  be  —  Earth  should  be  dumb, 
25  And  Heaven —  unless  its  thunders  muttered  at 
The  deed,  and  sent  a  bolt  to  stop  it !    Give  me 
My  bow  and  quiver  1  — 

Ges.    When  all 's  ready. 

Tell.   Well!     Lead  on  I 


296  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 


XCIX.  — SAME    SUBJECT,    COI^CLUDED. 

Peesonb. — Enter,  slowly ,  People  in  evident  distress '-■' 
Officers,  Samem,  Gesler,  Tell,  Albert,  and  Soldiers  — 
(me  hearing  TeU's  bow  and  quiver,  another  with  a 
basket  of  apples. 

Ges.    That  is  your  ground.     Now  shall  they  measure 
thence 
A  hundred  paces.     Take  the  distance. 
Tell.    Is  the  line  a  true  one  ? 
Ges.    True  or  not,  what  is  't  to  thee  ? 
5       Tell.    What  is 't  to  me  ?     A  little  thing, 
A  very  little  thing  —  a  yard  or  two 
Is  nothing  here  or  there  —  were  it  a  wolf 
I  shot  at !     Never  mind. 
Ges.   Be  thankful,  slave, 
10  Our  grace  accords  thee  life  on  any  terms. 

Tell.    I  will  be  thankful,  Gesler  I  —  Villain,  stop ! 
You  measure  to  the  sun. 

Ges.    And  what  of  that  ? 
What  matter  whether  to  or  from  the  sun  ? 
15       Tell.    I 'd  have  it  at  my  back  —  the  sun  should  shine 
Upon  the  mark,  and  not  on  him  that  shoots. 
I  cannot  see  to  shoot  against  the  sun  — 
I  will  not  shoot  against  the  sun ! 

Ges.    Give  him  his  way !    Thou  hast  cause  to  bless  my 
mercy. 
20       Tell.    I  shall  remember  it.     I  'd  like  to  see 
The  apple  I  'm  to  shoot  at. 

Ges.    Stay !  show  me  the  basket !  —  there — 
Tell.    You  've  picked  the  smallest  one. 
Ges.    I  know  I  have. 
25       Tell.    0  !  do  you  ?  —  But  you  see 

The  color  on 't  is  dark  —  I  'd  have  it  light, 
To  see  it  better. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  297 

Ges.    Take  it  as  it  is : 
Thy  skill  will  be  the  greater  if  thou  hit'st  it. 

Tell.    True  —  true  !  —  I  did  not  think  of  that  —  I 
wonder 
I  did  not  think  of  that  —  Give  me  some  chance 
5  To  save  my  boy  !  [  Throws  away  the  apple  with  allhisforce.l 
I  will  not  murder  him, 
If  I  can  help  it  —  for  the  honor  of 
The  form  thou  wearest,  if  all  the  heart  is  gone. 
Ges.    Well :  choose  thyself. 
10       Tell.    Have  I  a  friend  among  the  lookers  on? 
Verner.    [^Eushing  forward.']     Here,  Tell. 
Tell.    I  thank  thee,  Vemer  ! 
He  is  a  friend  runs  out  into  a  storm 
To  shake  a  hand  with  us.     I  must  be  brief: 
15  When  once  the  bow  is  bent,  we  cannot  take 
The  shot  too  soon.     Verner,  whatever  be 
The  issue  of  this  hour,  the  common  cause 
Must  not  stand  still.     Let  not  to-morrow's  sun 
Set  on  the  tyrant's  banner  !     Verner !     Verner ! 
20  The  boy !  —  the  boy  !    Thinkest  thou  he  hath  the  courage 
To  stand  it  ? 
Ver.    Yes. 

Tell.    Does  he  tremble  ? 
Ver.    No. 
25       Tell.    Art  sure  ? 
Ver.    I  am. 
Tell.    How  looks  he  ? 
Ver.    Clear  and  smilingly : 
If  you  doubt  it  —  look  yourself. 
30       Tell.   No  —  no  —  my  friend ; 
To  hear  it  is  enough. 

Ver.    He  bears  himself  so  much  above  his  years— 
Tell.    I  know !  —  I  know. 
Ver.    With  constancy  so  modest !  — 
•  Tell.    I  was  sure  he  would  — 


298 


Ver.    And  looks  with  such  relying  love 
And  reverence  upon  you  — 

Tell.    Man !    Man !    Man  ! 
No  more !     Already  I'm  too  much  the  father 
5  To  act  the  man  !  —  Vemer,  no  more,  my  friend ! 
I  would  be  flint  —  flint  —  flint.     Don't  make  me  feel 
I  'm  not  —  do  not  mind  me  !  —  Take  the  boy 
And  set  him,  Vemer,  with  his  back  to  me. 
Set  him  upon  his  knees  —  and  place  this  apple 
10  Upon  his  head,  so  that  the  stem  may  front  me,  — 
Thus,  Verner ;  charge  him  to  keep  steady  —  tell  him 
I  '11  hit  the  apple  !  —  Vemer,  do  all  this 
More  briefly  than  I  tell  it  thee. 

Ver.    Come,  Albert !  {^Leading  him  outJ^ 

15       Alb.    May  I  not  speak  with  him  before  I  go  ? 

Ver.   No. 

Alb.    I  would  only  kiss  his  hand. 

Ver.    You  must  not. 

Alb.    I  must !  —  I  cannot  go  from  him  without. 
20       Ver.    It  is  his  will  you  should. 

Alb.    His  will,  is  it  ? 
I  am  content  then  —  come. 

Tell.    My  boy !  [Holding  out  his  arms  to  him."] 

Alb.    My  father  !  [Bushing  into  TelVs  arms.'] 

25       Tell.    If  thou  canst  bear  it,  should  not  I  ?  —  Go,  now, 
My  son  —  and  keep  in  mind  that  I  can  shoot  — 
Gro,  boy  —  be  thou  but  steady,  I  will  hit 
The  apple  —  Go !  —  God  bless  thee  —  go.  —  My  bow ! — 

[The  how  is  handed  to  him.] 
Thou  wilt  not  fail  thy  master,  wilt  thou  ?  —  Thou 
30  Hast  never  failed  him  yet,  old  servant  —  No, 
I  'm  sure  of  thee  —  I  know  thy  honesty. 
Thou  art  stanch  —  stanch.  —  Let  me  see  my  quiver. 

Ges.    Give  him  a  single  arrow. 

Tell.    Do  you  shoot  ? 

Sol.    I  do. 


,  ^  hillaed's  sixth  reader.  299 

Tell.    Is  it  so  you  pick  an  arrow,  friend  ? 
The  point,  you  see,  is  bent ;  the  feather  jagged :  {Breaks  it.'\ 
That 's  all  the  use  't  is  fit  for. 
Ges.   Let  him  have  another. 
5       Tell.    Why,  't  is  better  than  the  first, 
But  yet  not  good  enough  for  such  an  aim 
As  I  'm  to  take  —  't  is  heavy  in  the  shaft : 
I  '11  not  shoot  with  it !   {Throws  it  awayJ]  Let  me  see  my 

quiver. 
Bring  it !  —  'T  is  not  one  arrow  in  a  dozen 
10  I  'd  take  to  shoot  with  at  a  dove,  much  less 
A  dove  like  that.  — 

GrES.  It  matters  not. 
Show  him  the  quiver. 

Tell.    See  if  the  boy  is  ready. 

{Tell  here  hides  an  arrow  under  his  vestJ^ 
15      Ver.   He  is. 

Tell.    I  'm  ready,  too  !     Keep  silent  for 
Heaven's  sake,  and  do  not  stir  —  and  let  me  have 
Your  prayers  —  your  prayers  —  and  be  my  witnesses 
That  if  his  life  's  in  peril  from  my  hand, 
20  'T  is  only  for  the  chance  of  saving  it.         {To  thejpeople.^ 
Ges.    Go  on. 
Tell.    I  will. 
O  friends,  for  mercy's  sake,  keep  motionless 
And  silent. 

{Tell  shoots  —  a  shout  of  exultation  bursts  from  the 
crowd —  TelVs  head  drops  on  his  bosom  ;  he  with 
difficult^/  supports  himself  upon  his  bow.'] 
25       Ver.    {Hushing  in  with  Albert.]    The  boy  is  safe — no 
hair  of  him  is  touched. 
Alb.    Father,  I  'm  safe !  —  your  Albert 's    safe,    dear, 
father,  — 
Speak  to  me  !     Speak  to  me ! 
Ver.  He  can  not,  boy  ! 
Alb.   You  grant  him  life  ? 


300  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

Ges.    I  do. 

Alb.    And  we  are  free  ? 

Ges.    You  are.  [  Crossing  angrily  behind.'] 

Alb.    Thank  Heaven !  —  thank  Heaven ! 
5       Ver.    Open  his  vest, 
And  give  him  air. 

[Albert  opens  his  father^ s  vest,  and  the  arrow  drops. 
Tell  starts,  fixes  his  eye  cm  Albert^  and  clasps  him 
to  his  breast.'] 
Tell.    My  boy !  —  My  boy  I 
Ges.    For  what 
Hid  you  that  arrow  in  your  breast  ?  —  Speak,  slave  I 
Tbll.    To  kill  thee,  tyrant,  had  I  slain  my  boy  I 


C.-— LOSS  or  UNION  IKEEPAEABLE. 

Webster. 

[From  a  eulogy  on  VTashington,  delivered  at  a  public  dinner  in  the  city  of 
Washington,  in  honor  of  his  centennial  birthday,  February  22,  1832.] 

"Washington,  therefore,  could  regard,  and  did  regard, 
nothing  as  of  paramount  political  interest,  but  the  integ- 
rity of  the  Union  itself.  With  a  united  government,  well 
administered,  he  saw  we  had  nothing  to  fear ;  and  without 
5  it,  nothing  to  hope.  The  sentiment  is  just,  and  its  mo- 
mentous truth  should  solemnly  impress  the  whole  country. 
If  we  might  regard  our  country  as  personated  in  the  spirit 
of  Washington,  if  we  might  consider  him  as  representing 
her,  in  her  past  renown,  her  present  prosperity,  and  her 
10  future  career,  and  as  in  that  character  demanding  of  us  all 
to  account  for  our  conduct,  as  political  men  or  as  private 
citizens,  how  should  he  answer  him  who  has  ventured  to 
talk  of  disunion  and  dismemberment  ?  Or  how  should  he 
answer  him  who  dwells  perpetually  on  local  interests,  and 
fans  every  kindling  flame  of  local  prejudice  ?    How  should 


hillard's  sixth  reader,  301 

he  answer  him  who  would  array  gtate  against  state,  inter- 
est against  interest,  and  party  against  party,  careless  of 
the  continuance  of  that  unity  of  government  which  constitutes 
v^  one  people  f 
5  Gentlemen,  the  political  prosperity  which  this  country 
has  attained,  and  which  it  now  enjoys,  it  has  acquired 
mainly  through  the  instrumentality  of  the  present  govern- 
ment. While  this  agent  continues,  the  capacity  of  attain- 
ing to  still  higher  degrees  of  prosperity  exists  also.     We 

10  have,  while  this  lasts,  a  political  life  capable  of  beneficial 

exertion,  with  power  to  resist  or  overcome  misfortunes,  to 

sustain  us  against  the  ordinary  accidents  of  human  affairs, 

and  to  promote,  by  active  efforts,  every  public  interest. 

But  dismemberment  strikes  at  the  very  being  which  pre- 

15  serves  these  faculties.  It  would  lay  its  rude  and  ruthless 
hand  on  this  great  agent  itself  It  would  sweep  away,  not 
only  what  we  possess,  but  all  power  of  regaining  lost,  or 
acquiring  new,  possessions.  It  would  leave  the  country, 
not   only   bereft   of    its   prosperity   and   happiness,   but 

20  without  limbs,  or  organs,  or  faculties,  by  which  to  exert 
itself  hereafter  in  the  pursuit  of  that  prosperity  and  hap- 
piness. 

Other  misfortunes  may  be  borne,  or  their  effects  over- 
come.    If  disastrous  war  should  sweep  our  commerce  from 

25  the  ocean,  another  generation  mky  renew  it ;  if  it  exhaust 
our  treasury,  future  industry  may  replenish  it ;  if  it  deso- 
late and  lay  waste  our  fields,  still,  under  a  new  cultiva- 
tion, they  will  grow  green  again,  and  ripen  to  future  har- 
vests.    It  were  but  a  trifle  even  if  the  walls  of  yonder 

30  Capitol  were  to  crumble,  if  its  lofty  pillars  should  fall,  and 
its  gorgeous  decorations  be  all  covered  by  the  dust  of  the 
valley. 

All  these  might  be  rebuilt.     But  who  shall  reconstruct 
the  fabric  of  demolished  government?     Who  shall  rear 

35  again  the  well  proportioned  columns  of  constitutional  lib- 
erty ?     Who  shall  frame  together  the  skilful  architecturo 
26 


302  HILLARD^S   SIXTH  READER. 

wliicli  unites  national  sovereignty  with  state  rights,  indi- 
vidual security,  and  public  prosperity  ? 

No,  gentlemen,  if  these  columns  fall,  they  will  be  raised 
not  again.  Like  the  Coliseum,  and  the  Parthenon,  they 
6  will  be  destined  to  a  mournful,  a  melancholy  immortality. 
Bitterer  tears,  however,  will  flow  over  them  than  were  ever 
shed  over  the  monuments  of  Koman  or  Grecian  art ;  for 
they  will  be  the  remnants  of  a  more  glorious  edifice  than 
Greece  or  Rome  ever  saw  —  the  edifice  of  constitutional 

10  American  liberty. 

But,  gentlemen,  let  us  hope  for  better  things.     Let  us 
trust  in  that  gracious  Being  who  has  hitherto  held  our 
country  as  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand.    Let  us  trust  to  the^ 
virtue  and  the  intelligence  of  the  people,  and  to  the  efficacy 

15  of  religious  obligation.  Let  us  trust  to  the  influence  of 
Washington's  example.  Let  us  hope  that  that  fear  of 
Heaven  which  expels  all  other  fear,  and  that  regard  to 
duty  which  transcends  all  other  regard,  may  influence 
public  men  and  private  citizens,  and  lead  our  country  still 

20  onward  in  her  happy  career. 

Full  of  these  gratifying  anticipations  and  hopes,  let  us 
look  forward  to  the  end  of  that  century  which  is  now 
commenced.  A  hundred  years  hence,  other  disciples  of 
Washington  will  celebrate  his  birth,  with  no  less  of  sin- 

25  cere  admiration  than  we  now  commemorate  it.  When 
they  shall  meet,  as  we  now  meet,  to  do  themselves  and 
him  that  honor,  so  surely  as  they  shall  see  the  blue  sum- 
mits of  his  native  mountains  rise  in  the  horizon,  so  surely 
as  they  shall  behold  the  river  on  whose  banks  he  lived, 

30  and  on  whose  banks  he  rests,  still  flowing  on  toward  the 
sea,  so  surely  may  they  see,  as  we  now  see,  the  flag  of  the 
Union  floating  on  the  top  of  the  Capitol ;  and  then,  as  now, 
may  the  sun  in  his  course  visit  no  land  more  free,  more 
happy,  more  lovely,  than  this  our  own  country ! 


hillaed's  sixth  readek.  ^  303 


CI.  — THE   ANTIQUITY   OF   FKEEDOM. 
Bryant. 

1  Here  are  old  trees  —  tall  oaks  and  gnarled  pines  — 
That  stream  with  gray-green  mosses  ;  here  the  ground 
Was  never  trenched  by  spade,  and  flowers  spring  up 
Unsown,  and  die  ungathered.     It  is  sweet 

To  linger  here,  among  the  flitting  birds 

And  leaping  squirrels,  wandering  brooks,  and  winds 

That  shake  the  leaves,  and  scatter,  as  they  pass, 

A  fragrance  from  the  cedars,  thickly  set 

With  pale  blue  berries.     In  these  peaceful  shades  — 

Peaceful,  unpruned,  immeasurably  old  — 

My  thoughts  go  up  the  long,  dim  path  of  years, 

Back  to  the  earliest  days  of  liberty. 

2  0  Freedom,  thou  art  not,  as  poets  dream, 

A  fair  young  girl,  with  light  and  delicate  limbs, 

And  wavy  tresses,  gushing  from  the  cap 

With  which  the  Koman  master  crowned  his  slave 

When  he  took  ofi"  the  gyves.     A  bearded  man, 

Armed  to  the  teeth,  art  thou  ;  one  mailed  hand 

Grasps  the  broad  shield,  and  one  the  sword ;  thy  brow. 

Glorious  in  beauty  though  it  be,  is  scarred 

With  tokens  of  old  wars  ;  thy  massive  limbs 

Are  strong  with  struggling.    Power  at  thee  has  launched 

His  bolts,  and  with  his  lightnings  smitten  thee  ; 

They  could  not  quench  the  life  thou  hast  from  Heaven. 

Merciless  power  has  dug  thy  dungeon  deep. 

And  his  swart  armorers,  by  a  thousand  fires, 

Have  forged  thy  chain  ;  yet  while  he  deems  thee  bound, 

The  links  are  shivered,  and  the  prison  walls 

Fall  outward ;  terribly  thou  springest  forth, 

As  springs  the  flame  above  a  burning  pile, 

And  shoutest  to  the  nations,  who  return 

Thy  shoutings,  while  the  pale  oppressor  flies. 


304  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

3  Thy  birthright  was  not  given  by  human  hands  ; 
Thou  wert  twin-born  with  man.     In  pleasant  fields, 
While  yet  our  race  was  few,  thou  sat'st  with  him, 
To  tend  the  quiet  flock,  and  watch  the  stars, 

And  teach  the  reed  to  utter  simple  airs. 
Thou,  by  his  side,  amid  the  tangled  wood, 
Didst  war  upon  the  panther  and  the  wolf. 
His  only  foes  ;  and  thou  with  him  didst  draw 
The  earliest  furrows  on-  the  mountain-side, 
Soft  with  the  deluge.     Tyranny  himself. 
Thy  enemy,  although  of  reverend  look, 
Hoary  with  many  years,  and  far  obeyed, 
Is  later  born  than  thou  ;  and  as  he  meets 
The  grave  defiance  of  thine  elder  eye, 
The  usurper  trembles  in  his  fastnesses. 

4  Thou  shalt  wax  stronger  with  the  lapse  of  years. 
But  he  shall  fade  into  a  feebler  age ; 

Feebler,  yet  subtler.     He  shall  weave  his  snares. 
And  spring  them  on  thy  careless  steps,  and  clap 
His  withered  hands,  and  from  their  ambush  call 
His  hordes  to  fall  upon  thee.     He  shall  send 
Quaint  maskers,  forms  of  fair  and  gallant  mien. 
To  catch  thy  gaze,  and  uttering  graceful  words 
To  charm  thy  ear ;  while  his  sly  imps,  by  stealth. 
Twine  round  thee  threads  of  steel,  light  thread  on  thread, 
That  grow  to  fetters,  or  bind  down  thy  arms 
With  chains  concealed  in  chaplets. 

5  0,  not  yet 
Mayst  thou  unbrace  thy  corselet,  nor  lay  by 
Thy  sword ;  nor  yet,  O  Freedom,  close  thy  lids 
In  slumber ;  for  thine  enemy  never  sleeps, 
And  thou  must  watch  and  combat  till  the  day 

Of  the  new  earth  and  heaven.     But  wouldst  thou  rest 
Awhile  from  tumult  and  the  frauds  of  men, 
These  old  and  friendly  solitudes  invite 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  305 

Thy  visit.     They,  while  yet  the  forest  trees 
Were  young  upon  the  unviolated  earth, 
And  yet  the  moss-stains  on  the  rock  were  new, 
Beheld  thy  glorious  childhood,  and  rejoiced. 


CIL  — THE    ANGELS   OE  BUENA  VISTA. 

Whittier. 

[Buena  Vista  is  a  hamlet  In  Mexico  where  the  Mexican  army,  under  Gen- 
eral Santa  Anna,  was  defeated  by  the  Americans,  under  General  Taylor,  Feb- 
ruary 22  and  23,  1847.  La  Angostura  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant.  La 
Puebla,  (pwa'bla,  or  poo-a'bla,)  is  the  second  city  of  Mexico.] 

Speak  and  tell  us,  our  Ximena,  looking  northward  far  away, 
O'er  the  camp  of  the  invaders,  o'er  the  Mexican  array, 
Who  is  losing  ?  who  is  winning  ?  are  they  far  or  come  they  near  ? 
Look  abroad,  and  tell  us,  sister,  wliither  rolls  the  storm  we  hear. 

*'  Down  the  hills  of  Angostura  still  the  storm  of  battle  rolls ; 
Blood  is  flowing,  men  are  dying ;  God  have  mercy  on  their  souls !  '* 
"Who  is  losing?  who  is  winning?  —  "  Over  hill  and  over  plain, 
I  see  but  smoke  of  cannon,  clouding  through  the  mountain  rain." 

Holy  Mother !  keep  our  brothers  !  Look  Ximena,  look  once  more  : 
"  Still  I  see  the  fearful  whirlwind  rolling  darkly  as  before, 
Bearing  on,  in  strange  confusion,  friend  and  foeman,  foot  and  horse, 
Like  some  wild  and  troubled  torrent  sweeping  down  its  mountain 
course." 

Look  forth  once  more  Ximena !  "  Ah  !  the  smoke  has  rolled  away; 
And  I  see  the  Northern  rifles  gleaming  down  the  ranks  of  gray. 
Hark !  that  sudden  blast  of  bugles  !  there  the  troop  of  Minon  *  wheels ;' 
There  the  Northern  horses  thunder,  with  the  cannon  at  their  heels.' 

"  Jesu,  pity!  how  it  thickens  !  now  retreat  and  now  advance  ! 
Bight  against  the  blazing  cannon  shivers  Puebla's  charging  lance  ! 
Down  they  go,  the  brave  young  riders;  horse  and  foot  together  fall; 
Like  a  ploughshare  in  the  fallow,  through  them  ploughs  the  Northern^ 
ball." 

*  Minon,  (pronounced  min-yon,)  was  a  Mexican  general.  * 

26* 


306  hillard's  sixth  eeadek.  ' 

Nearer  came  the  storm  and  nearer,  rolling  fast  and  frightful  on. 
Speak,  Ximena,  speak  and  tell  us,  who  has  lost  and  who  has  won? 
"  Alas  !  alas  !  I  know  not;  friend  and  foe  together  fall ; 
O'er  the  dying  rush  the  living ;  pray,  my  sisters,  for  them  all ! 

"  Lo  !  the  wmd  the  smoke  is  lifting ;  Blessed  Mother,  save  my  brain ! 
I  can  see  the  wounded  crawling  slowly  out  from  heaps  of  sUin. 
Now  they  stagger,  blind  and  bleeding ;  now  they  fall,  and  strive  to  rise ; 
Hasten,  sisters,  haste  and  save  them,  lest  they  die  before  our  eyes  ! 

"  Oh  my  heart's  love  I    oh  my  dear  one  !   lay  thy  poor  head  on  my 

knee; 
Dost  thou  know  the  lips  that  kiss  thee  ?  Canst  thou  hear  me  ?  Canst 

thou  see  ? 
Oh,  my  husband,  brave  and  gentle  !  oh  my  Bernard,  look  once  more 
On  the  blessed  cross  before  thee  !  mercy !  mercy  !  all  is  o'er." 

Dry  thy  tears,  my  poor  Ximena  ;  lay  thy  dear  one  down  to  rest ; 
Let  his  hands  be  meekly  folded,  lay  the  cross  upon  his  breast ; 
Let  his  dirge  be  sung  hereafter,  and  his  funeral  masses  said ; 
To-day,  thou  poor  bereaved  one,  the  living  ask  thy  aid. 

Close  beside  her,  faintly  moaning,  fair  and  young,  a  soldier  lay, 
Torn  with  shot  and  pierced  with  lances,  bleeding  slow  his  life  away| 
But,  as  tenderly  before  him,  the  lorn  Ximena  knelt, 
She  saw  the  Northern  eagle  shining  on  his  pistol  belt. 

"With  a  stifled  cry  of  horror  straight  she  turned  away  her  head ; 

With  a  sad  and  bitter  feeling  looked  she  back  upon  her  dead ; 

But  she  heard  the  youth's  low  moaning,  and  his  struggling  breath  of 

pain, 
And  she  raised  the  cooling  water  to  his  parched  lips  again. 

Whispered  low  the  dying  soldier,  pressed  her  hand,  and  faintly  smiled. 
Was  that  pitying  face  his  mother's  ?  did  she  watch  beside  her  child  ? 
All  his  stranger  words  with  meaning  her  woman's  heart  supplied ; 
With  her  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  "Mother ! "  murmured  he,  and  died ! 

*'  A  bitter  curse  upon  them,  poor  boy,  who  led  thee  forth, 
From  some  gentle,  sad-eyed  mother,  weeping  lonely,  in  the  North ! " 
Spake  the  mournful  Mexic  woman,  as  she  laid  him  with  her  dead. 
And  turned  to  soothe  the  living,  and  bind  the  wounds  which  bled. 


hillaed's  sixth  reader.  307 

Look  forth  once  more,  Ximena !  "  Like  a  cloud  before  the  wind 
Rolls  the  battle  down  the  mountains,  leaving  blood  and  death  behind ; 
Ah !  they  plead  in  vain  for  mercy ;  in  the  dust  the  wounded  strive  ; 
Hide  your  faces,  holy  angels  !  0,  thou  Christ  of  God,  forgive !  " 

Sink,  O  Night,  among  thy  mountains  !  let  the  cool,  gray  shadows  fall ; 
Dying  brothers,  fighting  demons,  drop  thy  curtain  over  all ! 
Through  the  thickening  winter  twilight,  wide  apart  the  battle  rolled, 
In  its  sheath  the  sabre  rested,  and  the  cannon's  lips  grew  cold. 

But  the  noble  Mexic  women  still  their  holy  task  pursued. 

Through  that  long,  dark  night  of  sorrow,  worn  and  faint  and  lacking 

food; 
Over  weak  and  suffering  brothers,  with  a  tender  care  they  hung, 
And  the  dying  foeman  blessed  them  in  a  strange  and  Northern  tongue. 

Not  wholly  lost,  O  Father !  is  this  evil  world  of  ours  ; 
Upward,  through  its  blood  and  ashes,  spring  afresh  the  Eden  flowers  ; 
From  its  smoking  hell  of  battle,  Love  and  Pity  send  their  prayer, 
And  still  thy  white-winged  angels  hover  dimly  in  our  air ! 


cm.  — AMEBIC  AN  NATIONALITY. 

Choate. 

[RUFUS  Choate  was  born  in  Essex,  Massachusetts,  October  1,  1799,  and 
died  July  13,  1859.  He  was  graduated  at  Dartmouth  College  in  1819,  and  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar  in  1824.  He  practised  his  profession  first  at  Danvers,  tlien  at 
Salem,  and  for  the  last  twenty-five  years  of  his  life  at  Boston.  He  was  chosen 
to  the  house  of  representatives  in  1832,  and  served  there  a  single  term.  He 
was  a  member  of  the  senate  from  February,  1841,  to  Marcli,  1845.  He  was  a 
brilliant  and  eloquent  advocate,  with  unrivalled  power  over  a  jury,  a  thoroughly 
instructed  lawyer,  and  a  scholar  of  wide  range  and  various  cultivation.  His 
writings,  consisting  of  lectures,  addresses,  and  speeches,  are  distinguished  by 
a  combination  of  logical  power  and  imaginative  splendor. 

The  following  extract  is  from  an  oration  delivered  in  Boston  on  the  eighty- 
second  anniversary  of  American  Independence,  July  5, 1858.] 

But  now,  "by  the  side  of  this  and  all  antagonisms,  higher 
than  they,  stronger  than  they,  there  rises  colossal  the  fine, 
sweet  spirit  of  nationality,  —  the  nationality  of  America. 
See  there  the  pillar  of  fire  which  God  has  kindled,  and 


308  hillaed's  sixth  keadee. 

lifted,  and  moved,  for  our  hosts  and  our  ages.  Gaze  on 
that,  worship  that,  worship  the  highest  in  that.  Between 
that  light  and  our  eyes  a  cloud  for  a  time  may  seem  to 
gather ;  chariots,  armed  men  on  foot,  the  troops  of  kings, 
5  may  march  on  us,  and  our  fears  may  make  us  for  a  mo- 
ment turn  from  it ;  a  sea  may  spread  before  us,  and  waves 
seem  to  hedge  us  up ;  dark  idolatries  may  alienate  some 
hearts  for  a  season  from  that  worship ;  revolt,  rebellion, 
may  break  out  in  the  camp,  and  the  waters  of  our  springs 

10  may  run  bitter  to  the  taste,  and  mock  it;  between  us  and 
that  Canaan  a  great  river  may  seem  to  be  rolling ;  but 
beneath  that  high  guidance  our  way  is  onward,  ever  on- 
ward. Those  waters  shall  part,  and  stand  on  either  hand 
in  heaps  ;  that  idolatry  shall  repent ;  that  rebellion  shall 

15  be  crushed;  that  stream  shall  be  sweetened;  that  over- 
flowing river  shall  be  passed  on  foot,  dry-shod,  in  harvest- 
time  ;  and  from  that  promised  land  of  flocks,  fields,  tents, 
/    mountains,  coasts,  and  ships,  from  north  and  south,  and 
east  and  west,  there  shall  swell  one  cry  yet,  of  victory, 

20  peace,  and  thanksgiving  ! 

But  we  were  seeking  the  nature  of  the  spirit  of  nation- 
ality, and  we  pass  in  this  inquiry  from  contrast  to  anal- 
ysis. You  may  call  it,  in  one  aspect,  a  mode  of  contem- 
plating the  nation  in  its  essence,  and  so  far  it  is  an  intel- 

25  lectual  conception,  and  you  may  call  it  a  feeling  towards 
the  nation  thus  contemplated,  and  so  far  it  is  an  emotion. 
In  the  intellectual  exercise  it  contemplates  the  nation  as 
it  is  one,  and  as  it  is  distinguished  from  all  other  nations, 
and  in  the  emotional  exercise  it  loves  it,  and  is  proud  of 

30  it  as  thus  it  is  contemplated. 

This  you  may  call  its  ultimate  analysis.  But  how  much 
more  is  included  in  it !  How  much  flows  from  it !  How 
cold  and  inadequate  is  such  a  description,  if  we  leave  it 
there !     Think  of  it  first  as  a  state  of  consciousness,  as  a 

35  spring  of  feeling,  as  a  motive  to  exertion,  as  blessing  your 
country,  and  as  reacting  on  you.     Think  of  it  as  it  fills. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  309 

your  mind  and  quickens  your  heart,  and  as  it  fills  the  mind 
and  quickens  the  heart  of  millions  around  you. 

Instantly,  under  such  an  influence,  you  ascend  above 
the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  small  local  strife ;  you  tread 
5  upon  the  high  places  of  the  earth  and  of  history ;  you 
think  and  feel  as  an  American  for  America ;  her  power, 
her  eminence,  her  consideration,  her  honor,  are  yours ; 
your  competitors,  like  hers,  are  kings ;  your  home,  like 
hers,  is  the  world  ;  your  path,  like  hers,  is  on  the  highway 

10  of  empires  ;  your  charge,  her  charge,  is  of  generations  and 
ages ;  your  record,  her  record,  is  of  treaties,  battles,  voy- 
ages, beneath  all  the  constellations ;  her  image,  one,  im- 
mortal, golden,  rises  on  your  eye  as  our  western  star  at 
evening  rises  on  the  traveller  from  his  home  ;  no  lowering 

15  cloud,  no  angry  river,  no  lingering  spring,  no  broken  cre- 
vasse, no  inundated  city  or  plantation,  no  tracts  of  sand, 
arid  and  burning  on  that  surface,  but  all  blended  and  soft- 
ened into  one  beam  of  kindred  rays,  the  image,  harbinger, 
and  promise  of  love,  hope,  and  a  brighter  day  ! 

20  But  if  you  would  contemplate  nationality  as  an  active 
virtue,  look  around  you.  Is  not  our  own  history  one  wit- 
ness and  one  record  of  what  it  can  do  ?  This  day  and 
all  which  it  stands  for,  —  did  it  not  give  us  these  ?  This 
glory  of  the  fields  of  that  war,  this  eloquence  of  that  revo- 

25  lution,  this  one  wide  sheet  of  flame,  which  wrapped  tyrant 
and  tyranny,  and  swept  all  that  escaped  from  it  away,  for- 
ever and  forever  ;  the  courage  to  fight,  to  retreat,  to  rally, 
to  advance,  to  guard  the  young  flag  by  the  young  arm  and 
the  young  heart's  blood,  to  hold  up  and  hold  on  till  the 

30  magnificent  consummation  crowned  the  work,  —  were  not 
all  these  imparted  or  inspired  by  this  imperial  sentiment  ? 
Has  it  not  here  begun  the  master-work  of  man,  the  cre- 
ation of  a  national  life  ?     Did  it  not  call  out  that  prodig- 
ious development  of  wisdom,  the  wisdom  of  constructive- 

35  ness  which  illustrated  the  years  after  the  war,  and  the 
framing  and  adopting  of  the  constitution  ?     Has  it  not,  in 


310  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

general,  contributed  to  the  administering  of  that  govern, 
ment  wisely  and  well  since  ? 

Look  at  it !  It  has  kindled  us  to  no  aims  of  conquest. 
It  has  involved  us  in  no  entangling  alliances.  It  has  kept 
5  our  neutrality  dignified  and  just.  The  victories  of  peace 
have  been  our  prized  victories.  But  the  larger  and  truer 
grandeur  of  the  nations,  for  which  they  are  created,  and 
for  which  they  must  one  day,  before  some  tribunal,  give 
account,  what  a  measure  of  these  it  has  enabled  us  already 

10  to  fulfil !  It  has  lifted  us  to  the  throne,  and  has  set  on 
our  brow  the  name,  of  the  Great  Kepublic.  It  has  taught 
us  to  demand  nothing  wrong,  and  to  submit  to  nothing 
wrong ;  it  has  made  our  diplomacy  sagacious,  wary,  and 
accomplished ;  it  has  opened  the  iron  gate  of  the  moun- 

15  tain,  and  planted  our  ensign  on  the  great  tranquil  sea. 

It  has  made  the  desert  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose ; 
it  has  quickened  to  life  the  giant  brood  of  useful  arts  ;  it 
has  whitened  lake  and  ocean  with  the  sails  of  a  daring, 
new,  and  lawful  trade  ;  it  has  extended  to  exiles,  flying  as 

20  clouds,  the  asylum  of  our  better  liberty. 

It  has  kept  us  at  rest  within  all  our  borders ;  it  has 
repressed  without  blood  the  intemperance  of  local  insubor- 
dination ;  it  has  scattered  the  seeds  of  liberty,  under  law 
and  under  order,  broadcast ;  it  has  seen  and  helped  Amer- 

25  ican  feeling  to  swell  into  a  fuller  flood  ;  from  many  a  field 
and  many  a  deck,  though  it  seeks  not.  war,  makes  not 
war,  and  fears  not  war,  it  has  borne  the  radiant  flag,  all 
unstained  ;  it  has  opened  our  age  of  lettered  glory  ;  it 
has  opened  and  honored  the  age  of  the  industry  of  the 
people  I 


HILLAED'S   SIXTH  READER.  311 

CIV.— LINES  ON  THE  ENTEY  OF  THE  AUSTEIANS 
INTO  NAPLES. 

Moore. 
[In  1820,  a  popular  revolution  broke  out  in  Naples  and  Sicily,  which  was  soon 
suppressed  by  the  Austrians,  who  entered  Naples  iu  March,  1821,  with  very  little 
resistance  on  the  part  of  the  Neapolitans.  Lord  Castlereagh  was  at  that  time 
secretary  of  state  for  the  foreign  department  in  Great  Britain,  and  a  statesman 
of  strong  Tory  principles.  Filicaia  and  Petrarch  were  Italian  poets  and  patri- 
ots, the  former  of  the  seventeenth,  and  the  latter  of  the  fourteenth  century.] 

1  Ay,  down  to  the  dust  with  them,  slaves  as  they  are  I 

From  this  hour  let  the  blood  in  their  dastardly  reins, 
That  shrunk  from  the  first  touch  of  Liberty's  war, 
Be  wasted  for  tyrants,  or  stagnate  in  chains  ! 

2  On  —  on,  like  a  cloud,  through  their  beautiful  vales, 

Ye  locusts  of  tyranny !  —  blasting  them  o'er  : 
Fill  —  fill  up  their  wide,  sunny  waters,  ye  sails, 

From  each  slave-mart  in  Europe,  and  shadow  their  shore. 

3  Let  their  fate  be  a  mock-word  —  let  men  of  all  lands 

Laugh  out  with  a  scorn  that  shall  ring  to  the  poles, 
When  each  sword,  that  the  cowards  let  fall  from  their  hands. 
Shall  be  forged  into  fetters  to  enter  their  souls  I 

4  And  deep,  and  more  deep,  as  the  iron  is  driven, 

Base  slaves  !  may  the  whet  of  their  agony  be, 
To  think  —  as  the  doomed  haply  think  of  that  heaven 

They  had  once  within  reach — that  they  might  have  been  free. 

6  Shame !  shame  !  when  there  was  not  a  bosom,  whose  heat 
Ever  rose  o'er  the  zero  of  Castlereagh's  heart, 
That  did  not,  like  Echo,  your  war-hymn  repeat, 

And  send  back  its  prayers  with  your  Liberty's  start ! 

6  When  the  world  stood  in  hope  —  when  a  spirit  that  breathed 

Full  fresh  of  the  olden  time  whispered  about, 
And  the  swords  of  all  Italy,  half-way  unsheathed, 
But  waited  one  conquering  cry  to  flash  out ! 

7  When  around  you  the  shades  of  your  mighty  in  fame, 

Filicaias  and  Petrarchs  seemed  bursting  to  view. 
And  their  words  and  their  warnings  —  like  tongues  of  bright  flame 
Over  Freedom's  apostles  —  fell  kindling  on  you ! 


312  HILLAKD*S   SIXTH  READER. 

8  Good  God !  that  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 

Worth  ages  of  history  —  when,  had  you  but  hurled 
One  bolt  at  your  tyrant  invader,  that  strife 
Between  freemen  and  tyrants,  had  spread  through  the  world.- 

9  That  then  —  0,  disgrace  upon  manhood  I  e'en  then 

You  should  falter  —  should  cling  to  your  pitiful  breath ; 
Cower  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  have  stood  men, 
And  prefer  a  slave's  life,  to  a  glorious  death  I 

10  It  is  strange  !  —  it  is  dreadful !     Shout,  Tyranny,  shout 

Through  your  dungeons  and  palaces,  "Freedom  is  o'er"* 
If  there  lingers  one  spark  of  her  fire,  tread  it  out, 
And  return  to  your  empire  of  darkness  once  more. 

11  For  if  such  are  the  braggarts  that  claim  to  be  free, 

Come,  Despot  of  Russia,  thy  feet  let  me  kiss  :  — -^ 
Far  nobler  to  live  the  brute  bondman  of  thee, 
Than  sully  even  chains  by  a  struggle  like  this  I 


CV.  — JOHN   QUINCY  ADAMS. 

Sewaud. 

[William  Henry  Seward  was  born  in  Florida,  New  York,  May  16, 1801. 
He  was  graduated  at  Union  College  in  1819,  and  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1822. 
Without  neglecting  his  professional  duties,  he  early  engaged  in  politics,  and  in 
1838  was  chosen  governor  of  New  York  by  the  Whigs,  and  was  re-elected  iu 
1846.  In  February,  1849,  he  was  chosen  to  the  senate  of  the  United  States, 
and  continued  a  member  of  that  body  till  the  election  of  President  Lincoln, 
when  he  became  a  member  of  his  cabinet  as  secretary  of  state.  During  his 
career  in  the  senate,  he  was  remarkable  for  the  ability  and  consistency  with 
which  he  maintained  the  policy  and  principles  of  the  anti-slavery  party,  but  he 
by  no  means  confined  his  attention  to  this  subject,  but  spoke  upon  a  variety  of 
questions  connected  with  the  commercial  and  industrial  relations  of  the  coun- 
try. He  is  a  man  of  patient  and  persevering  industry,  and  his  speeches,  which 
fere  always  carefully  prepared,  are  honorably  distinguished  for  their  decorum 
of  tone  and  their  great  literary  merit.  His  writings  have  been  published  in 
four  octavo  volumes,  with  a  biographical  memoir  and  historical  notes. 

The  following  extract  is  from  a  eulogy  on  John  Quiney  Adams,  delivered 
before  the  legislature  of  New  York,  February  23,  1848.] 

The  model  by  which  he  formed  his  character  was  Cicero. 
Not  the  living  Cicero,  sometimes  inconsistent,  often  irreso- 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  313 

lute,  too  often  seeming  to  act  a  studied  part,  and  always 
covetous  of  applause.  But  Cicero,  as  he  aimed  to  be,  and 
as  he  appears  revealed  in  those  immortal  emanations  of 
his  genius  which  have  been  the  delight  and  guide  of  in- 
5  tellect  and  virtue,  in  every  succeeding  age.  Like  the 
Koman,  Adams  was  an  orator,  but  he  did  not  fall  into  the 
error  of  the  Koman,  in  practically  valuing  eloquence  more 
than  the  beneficence  to  which  it  should  be  devoted.  Like 
him  he  was  a  statesman   and  magistrate  worthy  to  be 

10  called  "  The  second  founder  of  the  republic," — like  him 
a  teacher  of  didactic  philosophy,  of  morals,  and  even  of 
his  own  peculiar  art ;  and  like  him  he  made  all  liberal 
learning  tributary  to  that  noble  art,  while  poetry  was  the 
inseparable  companion  of  his  genius  in  its  hours  of  relax- 

15  ation  from  the  labors  of  the  forum  and  of  the  capitol. 

Like  him,  he  loved  only  the  society  of  good  men,  and 
by  his  generous  praise  of  such,  illustrated  the  Eoman's 
beautiful  aphorism,  that  no  one  can  be  envious  of  good 
deeds,  who  has  confidence  in  his  own  virtue.     Like  Cicero, 

20  he  kept  himself  unstained  by  social  or  domestic  vices; 
preserved  serenity  and  cheerfulness;  cherished  habitual 
reverence  for  the  Deity,  and  dwelt  continually,  not  on  the 
mystic  theology  of  the  schools,  but  on  the  hopes  of  a  better 
life.     He  lived  in  what  will  be  regarded  as  the  virtuous 

25  age  of  his  country,  while  Cicero  was  surrounded  by  an 
overwhelming  degeneracy.  He  had  the  light  of  Chris- 
tianity for  his  guide,  and  its  sublime  motives  as  incite- 
ments to  virtue;  while  Cicero  had  only  the  confused 
instructions  of  the  Grecian  schools,  and  saw  nothing  cer- 

30  tainly  attainable  but  present  applause  and  future  fame. 
In  moral  courage,  therefore,  he  excelled  his  model,  and 
rivalled  Cato.  But  Cato  was  a  visionary,  who  insisted  upon 
his  right  to  act  always  without  reference  to  the  condition 
of  mankind,  as  he  would  have  acted  in  Plato's  imaginary 

.  35  republic.     Adams  stood,  in  this  respect,  midway  between 
the  impracticable  stoic  and  the  too  flexible  academician. 
27 


314  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

He  had  no  occasion  to  say,  as  the  Grecian  orator  did,  that, 
if  he  had  sometimes  acted  contrary  to  himself,  he  had  never 
acted  contrary  to  the  republic  ;  but  he  might  justly  have 
said,  as  the  noble  Roman  did,  "  I  have  rendered  to  my 
5  country  all  the  great  services  which  she  was  willing  to  re- 
ceive at  ray  hands,  and  I  have  never  harbored  a  thought 
concerning  her  that  was  not  divine." 

More  fortunate  than  Cicero,  who  fell  a  victim  of  civil 
wars  which  he  could  not  avert,  Adams  was  permitted  to 

10  linger  on  the  earth,  until  the  generations  of  that  future 
age,  for  whom  he  had  lived  and  to  whom  he  had  appealed 
from  the  condemnation  of  contemporaries,  came  up  before 
the  curtain  which  had  shut  out  his  sight,  and  pronounced 
over  him,  as  he  was  sinking  into  the  grave,  their  judgment 

15  of  approval  and  benediction. 

The  distinguished  characteristics  of  his  life  were  benefi- 
cent labor  and  personal  contentment.  He  never  sought 
wealth,  but  devoted  himself  to  the  service  of  mankind  ; 
yet  by  the  practice  of  frugality  and  method,  he  secured 

20  the  enjoyment  of  dealing  forth  continually  no  stinted 
charities,  and  died  in  affluence.  He  never  solicited  place 
or  preferment,  and  had  no  partisan  combinations  or  even 
connections ;  yet  he  received  honors  which  eluded  the 
covetous   grasp  of  those  who   formed   parties,   rewarded 

25  friends,  and  proscribed  enemies;  and  he  filled  a  longer 
period  of  varied  and  distinguished  service  than  ever  fell  to 
the  lot  of  any  other  citizen.  In  every  state  of  this  progress 
he  was  content.  He  was  content  to  be  president,  minister, 
representative,  or  citizen. 

30  Stricken  in  the  midst  of  this  service,  in  the  very  act  of 
rising  to  debate,  he  fell  into  the  arms  of  conscript  fathers 
of  the  republic.  A  long  lethargy  supervened,  and  op- 
pressed his  senses.  Nature  rallied  the  wasting  powers, 
on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  for  a  very  brief  period.     But  it 

35  was  long  enough  for  him.  The  rekindled  eye  showed  that 
the  re-collected  mind  was  clear,  calm,  and  vigorous. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  315 

His  weeping  family  and  his  sorrowing  compeers  were 
there.  He  surveyed  the  scene,  and  knew  at  once  its  fatal 
import.  He  had  left  no  duty  unperformed ;  he  had  no 
wish  unsatisfied ;  no  ambition  unattained ;  no  regret,  no 
5  sorrow,  no  fear,  no  remorse.  He  could  not  shake  off  the 
dews  of  death  that  gathered  on  his  brow.  He  could  not 
pierce  the  thick  shades  that  rose  up  before  him.  But  he 
knew  that  eternity  lay  close  by  the  shores  of  time.  He 
knew  that  his  Kedeemer  lived. 

10  Eloquence,  even  in  that  hour,  inspired  him  with  his 
ancient  sublimity  of  utterance.  **  This,"  said  the  dying 
man,  "this  is  the  last  of  earth."  He  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  then  added,  "  I  am  content."  Angels  might  well  have 
drawn  aside  the  curtains  of  the  skies  to  look  down  on  such 

15  a  scene  —  a  scene  that  approximated  even  to  that  scene  of 
unapproachable  sublimity,  not  to  be  recalled  without  rev- 
erence, when,  in  mortal  agony.  One  who  spake  as  never 
man  spake,  said,  **  It  is  finished." 


CVL  — TEIAL   or   WAEEEN   HASTINGS. 
Macaulay. 

[This  description  of  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings  is  from  the  review  of 
•*  Glei^^'s  Life  of  Hastings  "  in  the  "  Edinburgh  Review."  Hastings  was 
governor-general  of  India  from  1774  to  1785;  and  on  his  return  to  England  was 
impeached  by  the  House  of  Commons,  and  tried  by  the  House  of  Lords,  for 
numerous  acts  of  injustice  and  oppression.  The  trial  began  in  1788,  and 
dragged  on  its  slow  length  till  1795,  when  he  was  finally  acquitted.  The  judg- 
ments of  men  entitled  to  respect  are  still  divided  as  to  the  amount  of  blame  to 
be  attached  to  Hastings,  He  was  a  man  of  great  abilities,  but  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  he  was  often  unscrupulous  in  his  conduct,  and  cruel  in  his  govern- 
ment. He  constantly  acted  upon  the  dangerous  doctrine,  that  a  good  end 
justifies  the  use  of  any  means  to  attain  it.  He  was  nearly  ruined  by  the 
expenses  of  his  trial,  which  are  said  to  have  amounted  to  nearly  four  hundred 
thousand  dollars.] 

The  place  was  worthy  of  such  a  trial.    It  was  the  great 
hall  of  William  Rufus ;  =••=  the  hall  which  had  resounded 

*  Westminster  Hall  was  built  by  William  Eufus,  for  a  banqueting  hall. 


316  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

with  acclamations  at  the  inauguration  of  thirty  kings ; 
the  hall  which  had  witnessed  the  just  sentence  of  Bacon, 
and  the  just  absolution  of  Somers  ;  the  hall  where  the  elo- 
quence of  StraflFord  had  for  a  moment  awed  and  melted  a 
5  victorious  party  inflamed  with  just  resentment ;  the  hall 
where  Charles  had  confronted  the  high  court  of  justice, 
with  the  placid  courage  that  has  half  redeemed  his  fame. 

Neither  military  nor  civil  pomp  was  wanting.  The  ave- 
nues were  lined  with  grenadiers.     The  streets  were  kept 

10  clear  by  cavalry.  The  peers,  robed  in  gold  and  ermine, 
were  marshalled  by  heralds  under  the  garter  king-at-arms. 
The  judges,  in  their  vestments  of  state,  attended  to  give 
advice  on  points  of  law.  Near  a  hundred  and  seventy 
lords,  three  fourths  of  the  upper  house,  as  the  upper  house 

15  then  was,  walked  in  solemn  order  from  their  usual  place 
of  assembling  to  the  tribunal.  The  junior  baron  present 
led  the  way,  —  George  Eliott,  Lord  Heathfield,  recently 
ennobled  for  his  memorable  defence  of  Gibraltar  against 
the  fleets  and  armies  of  France  and  Spain.     The  long  pro- 

20  cession  was  closed  by  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  earl  marshal 

of  the  realm,  by  the  great  dignitaries,  and  by  the  brothers 

and  the  sons  of  the  king.     Last  of  all  came  the  Prince  of 

Wales,  conspicuous  by  his  fine  person  and  noble  bearing. 

The  gray  old  walls  were  hung  with  scarlet.     The  long 

25  galleries  were  crowded  by  an  audience  such  as  has  rarely 
excited  the  fears  or  the  emulation  of  an  orator.  There 
were  gathered  together  from  all  parts  of  a  great,  free, 
enlightened,  and  prosperous  empire,  grace,  and  female 
loveliness,  wit  and  learning,  the  representatives  of  every 

30  science  and  of  every  art. 

There  were  seated  round  the  queen  the  fair-haired  young 
daughters  of  the  house  of  Brunswick.  There  the  ambas- 
sadors of  great  kings  and  commonwealths  gazed  with  admi- 
ration on  a  spectacle  which  no  other  country  in  the  world 

35  could  present.  There  Siddons,  in  the  prime  of  her  majes- 
tic beauty,  looked  with  emotion  on  a  scene  surpassing  all 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  317 

tlie  imitations  of  the  stage.  There  the  historian  of  the 
Eoman  empire  "  thought  of  the  days  when  Cicero  pleaded 
the  cause  of  Sicily  against  Verres,  and  when,  before  a 
senate  that  still  retained  some  show  of  freedom,  Tacitus 
5  thundered  against  the  oppressor  of  Africa. 

There  were  seen,  side  by  side,  the  greatest  scholar  and 
the  greatest  painter  of  the  age.  The  spectacle  had  allured 
Eeynolds  from  that  easel  which  has  preserved  to  us  the 
thoughtful  foreheads  of  so  many  writers  and  statesmen, 

10  and  the  sweet  smiles  of  so  many  noble  matrons.  It  had 
induced  Parr  f  to  suspend  his  labors  in  that  dark  and  pro- 
found mine  from  which  he  had  extracted  a  vast  treasure 
of  erudition,  a  treasure  too  often  buried  in  the  earth,  too 
often  paraded  with  injudicious  and  inelegant  ostentation, 

15  but  still  precious,  massive,  and  splendid. 

There  appeared  the  voluptuous  charms  of  her  |  to  whom 
the  heir  of  the  throne  had  in  secret  plighted  his  faith. 
There,  too,  was  she,§  the  beautiful  mother  of  a  beautiful 
race,  the  St.  Cecilia,  whose  delicate  features,  lighted  up 

20  by  love  and  music,  art  has  rescued  from  the  common 
decay.  There  were  the  members  of  that  brilliant  society 
which  quoted,  criticized,  and  exchanged  repartees,  under 
the  rich  peacock  hangings  of  Mrs.  Montague.  And  there 
the  ladies,  whose  lips,  more  persuasive  than  those  of  Fox 

25  himself,  had  carried  the  Westminster  election  against 
palace  and  treasury,  shone  round  Georgiana,  Duchess  of 
Devonshire. 

The  sergeants  made  proclamation.  Hastings  advanced 
to  the  bar,  and  bent  his  knee.  The  culprit  was  indeed 
not  unworthy  of  that  great  presence.     He  had  ruled  an 

*  Gibbon. 

t  Samuel  Tarr,  a  clergyman  and  man  of  learning,  but  hardly  the  "  greatest 
Icholar  of  the  age." 

I  Mrs.  Fitzherbert,  whom  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  supposed  to  have  secretly 
Inarried. 

§  The  first  wife  of  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan,  a  woman  remarkable  for 
beauty  and  musical  genius,  whom  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds  had  painted  as  St. 
Cecilia.  ^ 

^  ^^_^  27* 


318  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

extensive  and  populons  country,  had  made  laws  and  trea- 
ties, had  sent  forth  armies,  had  set  up  and  pulled  down 
princes.  And  in  his  high  place  he  had  so  borne  him- 
self that  all  had  feared  him,  that  most  had  loved  him, 
5  and  that  hatred  itself  could  deny  him  no  title  to  glory, 
except  virtue. 

He  looked  like  a  great  man,  and  not  like  a  bad  man.  A 
person  small  and  emaciated,  yet  deriving  dignity  from  a 
carriage  which,  while  it  indicated  deference  to  the  court, 

10  indicated  also  habitual  self-possession  and  self-respect,  a 
high  and  intellectual  forehead,  a  brow  pensive,  but  not 
gloomy,  a  mouth  of  inflexible  decision,  a  face  pale  and 
worn,  but  serene,  —  such  was  the  aspect  with  which  the 
great  proconsul  presented  himself  to  his  judges. 

15  The  charges  and  the  answers  of  Hastings  were  first  read. 
The  ceremony  occupied  two  whole  days,  and  was  rendered 
less  tedious  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been,  by  the  sil- 
ver voice  and  just  emphasis  of  Cowper,  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  a  near  relation  to  the  amiable  poet. 

20  On  the  third  day,  Burke  rose.  Four  sittings  were  occu- 
pied by  his  opening  speech,  which  was  intended  to  be  a 
general  introduction  to  all  the  charges.  With  an  exuber- 
ance of  thought  and  a  splendor  of  diction  which  more  than 
satisfied  the  highly-raised  expectation  of  the  audience,  he 

25  described  the  character  and  institutions  of  the  natives  of 
India,  recounted  the  circumstances  in  which  the  Asiatic 
empire  of  Britain  had  originated,  and  set  forth  the  consti- 
tution of  the  company,  and  of  the  English  presidencies. 
Having  thus  attempted  to  communicate  to  his  hearers 

30  an  idea  of  eastern  society  as  vivid  as  that  which  existed  in 
his  own  mind,  he  proceeded  to  arraign  the  administration 
of  Hastings,  as  systematically  conducted  in  defiance  of 
morality  and  public  law.  The  energy  and  pathos  of  the 
great  orator  extorted  expressions  of  unwonted  admiration 
from  the  stern  and  hostile  chancellor,-  and,  for  a  moment, 
*  LordThurlow,  a  stem,  rough  man,  and  friendly  to  Hastings. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  319 

seemed  to  pierce  the  resolute  heart  of  the  defendant.  The 
ladies  in  the  galleries,  unaccustomed  to  such  displays  of 
eloquence,  excited  by  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and 
perhaps  not  unwilling  to  display  their  taste  and  sensi- 
5  bility,  were  in  a  state  of  uncontrollable  emotion.  Hand- 
kerchiefs were  pulled  out ;  smelling-bottles  were  handed 
round  ;  hysterical  cries  and  sobs  were  heard ;  and  Mrs. 
Sheridan  was  carried  out  in  a  fit. 

At  length  the  orator  concluded.     Eaising  his  voice,  till 

10  the  old  arches  of  Irish  oak  resounded,  "  Therefore,"  said 
he,  "  hath  it  with  all  confidence  been  ordered  by  the  Com- 
mons of  Great  Britain,  that  I  impeach  Warren  Hastings 
of  high  crimes  and  misdemeanors.  I  impeach  him  in  the 
name  of  the  Commons'  House  of  Parliament,  whose  trust 

15  he  has  betrayed.  I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  Eng- 
lish nation,  whose  ancient  honors  he  has  sullied.  I  im- 
peach him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose 
rights  he  has  trodden  under  foot,  and  whose  country  he 
has  turned  into  a  desert.     Lastly,  in  the  name  of  human 

20  nature  itself,  in  the  name  of  both  sexes,  in  the  name  of 
every  age,  in  the  name  of  every  rank,  I  impeach  the  com- 
mon enemy  and  oppressor  of  all." 


CTIL— LINES   TO   A  CHILD,  ON   HIS   VOYAGE   TO 

FKANCE,    TO   MEET   HIS   FATHER 

Ware. 

[Hexry  "Ware,  Jr.,  was  born  in  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  April  21,  1794^' 
and  died  September  25,  1843.  He  was  a  settled  clergyman  in  Boston  from  1817 
to  1829,  and  afterwards  professor  in  the  theological  school  at  Cambridge.  He 
published  many  essays  and  discourses  on  moral  and  religious  subjects,  and  a 
few  pieces  of  poetry.  He  was  a  man  of  ardent  piety,  an  earnest  and  excellent 
preacher,  and  always  controlled  by  the  highest  sense  of  duty.  His  prose 
writings  are  marked  by  simplicity,  directness,  and  strong  religious  feeling; 
and  the  few  poems  he  wrote  show  poetical  powers  of  no  common  order. 

The  following  lines  origmally  appeared  in  the  ^  Christian  Disciple."] 


320 

1  Lo  !  how  impatiently  upon  the  tide 
The  proud  ship  tosses,  eager  to  be  free. 

Her  flag  streams  wildly,  and  her  fluttering  sails 
Pant  to  be  on  their  flight.     A  few  hours  more, 
And  she  will  move  in  stately  grandeur  on, 
Cleaving  her  path  majestic  through  the  flood, 
As  if  she  were  a  goddess  of  the  deep. 

2  0,  't  is  a  thought  sublime,  that  man  can  force 
A  path  upon  the  waste,  can  find  a  way 
Where  all  is  trackless,  and  compel  the  winds, 
Those  freest  agents  of  Almighty  power, 

To  lend  their  untamed  wings,  and  bear  him  on 
To  distant  climes.     Thou,  William,  still  art  young. 
And  dost  not  see  the  wonder.     Thou  wilt  tread 
The  buoyant  deck,  and  look  upon  the  flood, 
,    Unconscious  of  the  high  sublimity. 

As  't  were  a  common  thing  —  thy  soul  unawed. 
Thy  childish  sports  unchecked  ;  while  thinking  man 
Shrinks  back  into  himself —  himself  so  mean 
Mid  things  so  vast  —  and,  rapt  in  deepest  awe. 
Bends  to  the  might  of  that  mysterious  Power, 
Who  holds  the  waters  in  his  hand,  and  guides 
The  ungovernable  winds.  — 'T  is  not  in  man 
To  look  unmoved  upon  that  heaving  waste. 
Which,  from  horizon  to  horizon  spread, 
Meets  the  o'erarching  heavens  on  every  side. 
Blending  their  hues  in  distant  faintness  there. 

3  'T  is  wonderful !  —  and  yet,  my  boy,  just  such 
Is  life.     Life  is  a  sea  as  fathomless, 

As  wide,  as  terrible,  and  yet  sometimes 
As  calm  and  beautiful.     The  light  of  Heaven 
Smiles  on  it,  and  't  is  decked  with  every  hue 
Of  glory  and  of  joy.     Anon,  dark  clouds 
Arise,  contending  winds  of  fate  go  forth, 
And  hope  sits  weeping  o'er  a  general  wreck 


321 


And  thou  must  sail  upon  this  sea,  a  long, 
Eventful  voyage.     The  wise  mmj  suffer  wreck, 
The  foolish  must.     0  !  then  be  early  wise  ! 
Learn  from  the  mariner  his  skilful  art 
To  ride  upon  the  waves,  and  catch  the  breeze, 
And  dare  the  threatening  storm,  and  trace  a  path 
Mid  countless  dangers,  to  the  destined  port, 
Unerringly  secure.     0  !  learn  from  him 
To  station  quick-eyed  Prudence  at  the  helm. 
To  guard  thy  sail  from  Passion's  sudden  blasts, 
And  make  Eeligion  thy  magnetic  guide, 
Which,  though  it  trembles  as  it  lowly  lies. 
Points  to  the  light  that  changes  not,  in  Heaven. 

Farewell  —  Heaven  smile  propitious  on  thy  course. 
And  favoring  breezes  waft  thee  to  the  arms 
Of  love  paternal.  —  Yes,  and  more  than  this  — 
Blest  be  thy  passage  o'er  the  changing  sea 
Of  life  ;  the  clouds  be  few  that  intercept 
The  light  of  joy  ;  the  waves  roll  gently  on 
Beneath  thy  bark  of  hope,  and  bear  thee  safe 
To  meet  in  peace  thine  other  father,  —  God. 


CVIIL  — THE  DEATH  OF    HAMILTON. 

NOTT. 

[Eliphalet  Nott  was  born  in  Ashford,  Connecticut,  June  25, 1773.  He 
has  been  president  of  Union  College,  Schenectady,  since  1804,  and  was  previ- 
ously pastor  of  a  church  in  Albany.  It  was  there  that  he  preached  the  ser- 
mon, of  which  the  following  is  a  portion.  It  produced  a  great  effect,  as  the 
whole  nation  was  deeply  moved  at  the  death  of  Alexander  Hamilton,  an  emi- 
nent statesman  and  soldier,  who  was  killed  in  a  duel  by  Aaron  Burr,  July  11, 
180i.  Dr.  Nott  has  published  "  Lectures  on  Temperance,"  and  "Counsels  to 
Young  Men,"  and  has  spent  much  time  in  experiments  and  researches  con- 
nected with  the  application  of  the  laws  of  heat  to  the  arts  of  life.  J 

A  SHORT  time  since,  and  he,  who  is  the  occasion  of  our 
sorrows,  was  the  ornament  of  his  country.     He  stood  on 


322  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

an  eminence,  and  glory  covered  him.  From  that  emi- 
nence he  has  fallen,  —  suddenly,  forever  fallen.  His  in- 
tercourse with  the  living  world  is  now  ended ;  and  those 
who  would  hereafter  find  him,  must  seek  him  in  the  grave. 
5  There,  cold  and  lifeless,  is  the  heart  which  just  now  was 
the  seat  of  friendship ;  there,  dim  and  sightless,  is  the  eye 
whose  radiant  and  enlivening  orb  beamed  with  intelli- 
gence ;  and  there,  closed  forever,  are  those  lips  on  whose 
persuasive  accents  we  have  so  often  and  so  lately  hung 

10  with  transport. 

From  the  darkness  which  rests  upon  his  tomb  there  pro- 
ceeds, methinks,  a  light,  in  which  it  is  clearly  seen  that 
those  gaudy  objects  which  men  pursue  are  only  phantoms. 
In  this  light  how  dimly  shines  the  splendor  of  victory ! 

15  how  humble  appears  the  majesty  of  grandeur !  The  bub- 
ble, which  seemed  to  have  so  much  solidity,  has  burst; 
and  we  again  see  that  all  below  the  sun  is  vanity. 

True,  the  funeral  eulogy  has  been  pronounced,  the  sad 
and  solemn  procession  has  moved,  the  badge  of  mourning 

20  has  already  been  decreed,  and  presently  the  sculptured 
marble  will  lift  up  its  front,  proud  to  perpetuate  the  name 
of  Hamilton,  and  rehearse  to  the  passing  traveller  his  vir- 
tues (just  tributes  of  respect,  and,  to  the  living,  useful); 
but  to  him,  mouldering  in  his  naiTow  and  humble  habita- 

25  tion,  what  are  they  ?     How  vain !  how  unavailing ! 

Approach,  and  behold,  while  I  lift  from  his  sepulchre 
its  covering !  Ye  admirers  of  his  greatness !  ye  emulous 
of  his  talents  and  his  fame !  approach  and  behold  him 
now !     How  pale !  how  silent !     No  martial  bands  admire 

30  the  adroitness  of  his  movements;  no  fascinating  throng 
weep  and  melt  and  tremble  at  his  eloquence !  Amazing 
change !  a  shroud  !  a  coffin !  a  narrow,  subterraneous  cab- 
in !  —  this  is  all  that  now  remains  of  Hamilton !  And  is 
this  all  that  remains  of  Hamilton  ?      During  a  life  so 

35  transitory,  what  lasting  monument,  then,  can  our  fondest 
hopes  erect ! 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  323 

My  brethren,  we  stand  on  the  "borders  of  an  awful  gulf, 
which  is  swallowing  up  all  things  human.  And  is  there, 
amidst  this  universal  wreck,  nothing  stable,  nothing  abid- 
ing, nothing  immortal,  on  which  poor,  frail,  dying  man 
5  can  fasten  ?  Ask  the  hero,  ask  the  statesman,  whose  wis- 
dom you  have  been  accustomed  to  revere,  and  he  will  tell 
you.  He  will  tell  you,  did  I  say  ?  He  has  already  told 
you,  from  his  death-bed ;  and  his  illumined  spirit  still 
whispers  from  the  heavens,  with  well  known  eloquence, 
10  the  solemn  admonition:  "Mortals  hastening  to  the  tomb, 
and  once  the  companions  of  my  pilgrimage,  take  warning 
and  avoid  my  errors ;  cultivate  the  virtues  I  have  recom- 
mended ;  choose  the  Saviour  I  have  chosen ;  live  disinter- 
estedly ;  live  for  immortality ;  and  would  you  rescue  any- 
thing from  final  dissolution,  lay  it  up  in  God." 


CIX.  — THE   INDIANS. 

Charles  Sprague. 

Yet  while,  by  life's  endearments  crowned, 

To  mark  this  day  we  gather  round. 

And  to  our  nation's  founders  raise 

The  voice  of  gratitude  and  praise. 
Shall  not  one  line  lament  that  lion  race. 
For  us  struck  out  from  sweet  creation's  face  ? 
Alas,  alas  for  them !  —  those  fated  bands. 
Whose  monarch  tread  was  on  these  broad,  green  lands. 
Our  fathers  called  them  savage,  —  them,  whose  bread, 
In  the  dark  hour  those  famished  fathers  fed. 

2  We  call  them  savage.     0,  be  just ! 
Their  outraged  feelings  scan ; 
A  voice  comes  forth,  —  't  is  from  the  dust,  — 
The  savage  was  a  man ! 


324  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Think  ye  he  loved  not  ?     Who  stood  by, 

And  in  his  toils  took  part  ? 
"Woman  was  there  to  bless  his  eye,  — 

The  savage  had  a  heart ! 
Think  ye  he  prayed  not  ?     When  on  high 

He  heard  the  thunders  roll, 
What  bade  him  look  beyond  the  sky? 

The  savage  had  a  soul ! 

I  venerate  the  Pilgrim's  cause. 

Yet  for  the  red  man  dare  to  plead 
We  bow  to  Heaven's  recorded  laws, 
J'  He  turned  to  Nature  for  a  creed        i 

^      Beneath  the  pillared  dome,  ^ 

\  We  seek  our  God  in  prayer ; 

I      Through  boundless  woods  he  loved  to  roam,j 

And  the  Great  Spirit  worshipped  there. 
\  *But  one,  one  fellow-throb  with  us  he  felt  ; 
To  one  divinity  with  us  he  knelt ; 
Freedom,  —  the  self-same  freedom  we  adore,  — 
Bade  him  defend  his  violated  shore. 
He  saw  the  cloud,  ordained  to  grow 
And  burst  upon  his  hills  in  woe ; 
He  saw  his  people  withering  by, 
Beneath  the  invader's  evil  eye  ; 
Strange  feet  were  trampling  on  hie  fathers'  bones; 
At  midnight  hour  he  woke  to  gaze 
Upon  his  happy  cabin's  blaze. 
And  listen  to  his  children's  dying  groans. 
He  saw,  and,  maddening  at  the  sight. 
Gave  his  bold  bosom  to  the  fight ; 
To  tiger-rage  his  soul  was  driven  ; 
Mercy  was  not,  or  sought,  or  given  ; 

The  pale  man  from  his  lands  must  fly, 

He  would  be  free,  or  he  would  die. 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  325 

Alas  for  them!  —  their  day  is  o'er, 

Their  fires  are  out  from  hill  and  shore ; 

No  more  for  them  the  wild  deer  bounds ; 

The  plough  is  on  their  hunting-grounds  ; 

The  pale  man's  axe  rings  through  their  woods ; 

The  pale  man's  sail  skims  o'er  their  floods ; 

Their  pleasant  springs  are  dry ; 
Their  children,  —  look !  by  power  oppressed, 
Beyond  the  mountains  of  the  west 

Their  children  go  —  to  die ! 

0,  doubly  lost !     Oblivion's  shadows  close 

Around  their  triumphs  and  their  woes. 

On  other  realms,  whose  suns  have  set, 

Eeflected  radiance  lingers  yet ; 

There  sage  and  bard  have  shed  a  light 

That  never  shall  go  down  in  night ; 

There  time-crowned  columns  stand  on  high. 

To  tell  of  them  who  cannot  die  ; 

Even  we,  who  then  were  nothing,  kneel 

In  homage  there,  and  join  earth's  general  peal. 

But  the  doomed  Indian  leaves  behind  no  trace 

To  save  his  own,  or  serve  another  race ; 

"With  his  frail  breath  his  power  has  passed  away ; 

His  deeds,  his  thoughts,  are  buried  with  his  clay ; 

Nor  lofty  pile,  nor  glowing  page, 

Shall  link  him  to  a  future  age, 

Or  give  him  with  the  past  a  rank ; 
His  heraldry  is  but  a  broken  bow. 
His  history  but  a  tale  of  wrong  and  woe,  — 

His  very  name  must  be  a  blank. 

Cold,  with  the  beast  he  slew  he  sleeps ; 
O'er  him  no  filial  spirit  weeps ; 
No  crowds  throng  round,  no  anthem  notes  ascend, 
To  bless  his  coming  and  embalm  his  end  ; 
28 


326      ^-        hillaed's  sixth  readek. 

Even  that  he  lived,  is  for  his  conqueror's  tongue; 
By  foes  alone  his  death-song  must  be  sung : 
No  chronicles  but  theirs  shall  tell 

His  mournful  doom  to  future  times ; 
May  these  upon  his  virtues  dwell, 

And  in  his  fate  forget  his  crimes. 


ex.  — AMEKICAN  LABOEERS. 
Naylor. 

[Extract  fh)m  a  speech  delivered  in  tlie  House  of  Eepresentatives  by  HON, 
C.  Naylok,  Member  of  Congress  from  Pennsylvania.] 

The  gentleman,  sir,  has  misconceived  the  spirit  and 
tendency  of  northern  institutions.  He  is  ignorant  of 
northern  character.  He  has  forgotten  the  history  of  his 
country.  Preach  insurrection  to  the  northern  laborers  ! 
5  Who  are  the  northern  laborers?  The  history  of  your 
country  is  their  history.  The  renown  of  your  country  is 
their  renown.  The  brightness  of  their  doings  is  embla- 
zoned on  its  every  page.  Blot  from  your  annals  the  words 
and  the  doings  of  northern  laborers,  and  the  history  of 

10  your  country  presents  but  a  universal  blank. 

Sir,  who  was  he  that  disarmed  the  Thunderer ;  wrested 
from  his  grasp  the  bolts  of  Jove ;  calmed  the  troubled 
ocean ;  became  the  central  sun  of  the  philosophical  system 
of  his  age,  shedding  his  brightness  and  effulgence  on  the 

15  whole  civilized  world;  whom  the  great  and  mighty  of  the 
earth  delighted  to  honor ;  who  participated  in  the  achieve- 
ment of  your  independence,  prominently  assisted  in  mould- 
ing your  free  institutions,  and  the  beneficial  effects  of  whose 
wisdom  will  be  felt  to  the    last  moment  of  '*  recorded 

20  time?"  Who,  sir,  I  ask,  was  he?  A  northern  laborer, 
—  a  Yankee  tallow-chandler's  son,  —  a  printer's  runaway 
boy! 


hillard's  sixth  readee.  327 

And  who,  let  me  ask  the  honorable  gentleman,  who  was 
he  that,  in  the  days  of  our  Revolution,  led  forth  a  north- 
ern army,  —  yes,  an  army  of  northern  laborers,  —  and 
aided  the  chivalry  of  South  Carolina  in  their  defence 
5  against  British  aggression,  drove  the  spoilers  from  their 
firesides,  and  redeemed  her  fair  fields  from  foreign  in- 
vaders ?  Who  was  he  ?  A  northern  laborer,  a  Ehode  Island 
blacksmith,  —  the  gallant  General  Greene,  —  who  left  his 
hammer  and  his  forge,  and  went  forth  conquering  and  to 

10  conquer  in  the  battle  for  our  independence!  And  will 
you  preach  insurrection  to  men  like  these  ? 

Sir,  our  country  is  full  of  the  achievements  of  northern 
laborers !  Where  is  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Prince- 
ton, and  Trenton,  and  Saratoga,  and  Bunker  Hill,  but  in 

15  the  north?  And  what,  sir,  has  shed  an  imperishable 
renown  on  the  never-dying  names  of  those  hallowed  spots, 
but  the  blood  and  the  struggles,  the  high  daring,  and 
patriotism,  and  sublime  courage,  of  northern  laborers? 
The  whole  north  is  an  everlasting  monument  of  the  free- 

20  dom,  virtue,  intelligence,  and  indomitable  independence,  of 
northern  laborers !  Go,  sir,  go  preach  insurrection  to  men 
like  these  ! 

The  fortitude  of  the  men  of  the  north,  under  intense 
sufiering   for    liberty's   sake,   has  been  almost  godlike ! 

25  History  has  so  recorded  it.  Who  comprised  that  gallant 
army,  without  food,  without  pay,  shelterless,  shoeless,  pen- 
niless, and  almost  naked,  in  that  dreadful  winter,  —  the 
midnight  of  our  Revolution,  —  whose  wanderings  could  be 
traced  by  their  blood- tracks  in  the  snow ;  whom  no  arts 

30  could  seduce,  no  appeal  lead  astray,  no  sufferings  disaf- 
fect ;  but  who,  true  to  their  country  and  its  holy  cause, 
continued  to  fight  the  good  fight  of  liberty,  until  it  finally 
triumphed  ?  Who,  sir,  were  these  men  ?  Why,  northern 
laborers !  —  yes,  sir,  northern  laborers  !     Who,  sir,  were 

35  Roger  Sherman  and  —  but  it  is  idle  to  enumerate.  To 
name  the  northern  laborers  who  have  distinguished  them- 


328  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

selves,  and  illustrated  the  history  of  their  country,  would 
require  days  of  the  time  of  this  House.  Nor  is  it  neces- 
sary. Posterity  will  do  them  justice.  Their  deeds  have 
been  recorded  in  characters  of  fire  ! 


CXI.  — MES.    CAUDLE   UKGING   THE   NEED   OF 

SPKING  CLOTHING. 

Jerrold. 

[Douglas  William  Jerrold  was  born  in  London  January  3, 1803,  and 
died  June  8,  1857.  He  was  first  a  midshipman  in  tlie  navy,  then  a  printer,  and 
lastly  a  man  of  letters  by  profession.  He  wrote  many  successful  plays,  and 
was  a  frequent  contributor  to  the  periodical  publications  of  the  day.  He  was 
a  man  of  brilliant  wit  in  conversation,  and  highly  estimable  in  conduct  and 
character.  His  "  Caudle  Lectures"  were  published  in  the  London  *'  Punch," 
and  extensively  read  in  England  and  America.] 

If  there  's  anything  in  the  world  I  hate  —  and  you 
know  it  —  it  is,  asking  you  for  money.  I  am  sure,  for 
myself,  I  'd  rather  go  without  a  thing  a  thousand  times, 
and  I  do,  the  more  shame  for  you  to  let  me. 
5  What  do  I  want  now  ?  As  if  you  did  n't  know !  I  'm 
sure,  if  I  'd  any  money  of  my  own,  I  'd  never  ask  you  for 
a  farthing  —  never !     It 's  painful  to  me,  gracious  knows ! 

What  do  you  say  ?     If  it  *s  painful,  why  so  often  do  it  ? 

I  suppose  you  call  that  a  joke  —  one  of  your  club-jokes ! 

10  As  I  say,  I  only  wish  I  'd  any  money  of  my  own.    If  there 

is  anything  that  humbles  a  poor  woman,  it  is  coming  to  a 

man's  pocket  for  every  farthing.     It 's  dreadful ! 

Now,  Caudle,  you  shall  hear  me,  for  it  is  n't  often  I 
speak.     Pray,  do  you  know  what  month  it  is  ?     And  did 
15  you  see  how  the  children  looked  at  church  to-day  —  like 
nobody  else's  children  ? 

What  was  the  matter  with  them  ?  Oh  !  Caudle,  how 
can  you  ask  ?  Were  n't  they  all  in  their  thick  merinoes 
and  beaver  bonnets  ? 

What  do  you  say  ?     What  of  it  ?     What !     You  '11  tell 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  829 

me  tliat  you  did  n't  see  how  the  Briggs  girls,  in  their  new 

chips,  turned  their  noses  up  at  'em  ?     And  you  did  n't  see 

how  the  Browns  looked  at  the  Smiths,  and  then  at  our  poor 

girls,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Poor  creatures  !  what  figures  for 
5  the  first  of  May  ?  " 

Toit  did  n't  see  it  ?     The  more  shame  for  you  !     I  'm 

sure,  those  Briggs    girls  —  the  little  minxes  !  —  put  me 

into  such  a  pucker,  I  could  have  pulled  their  ears  for  'em 

over  the  pew. 
10       What  do  you  say  ?     /  ought  to  he  ashamed  to  own  it  ? 

Now,  Caudle,  it 's  no  use  talking  ;  those  children  shall  not 

cross  over  the  threshold  next  Sunday,  if  they  have  n't 

things  for  the  summer.     Now  mind  —  they  shan't ;  and 

there  's  an  end  of  it ! 
15       I'm  always  wanting  money  for  clothes  ?     How  can  you 

say  that  ?     I'm  sure  there  are  no  children  in  the  world  that 

cost  their  father  so  little  ;  but  that 's  it  —  the  less  a  poor 

woman  does  upon,  the  less  she  may. 

Now,  Caudle,  dear !     What  a  man  you  are  !     I  know 
20  you  '11  give  me  the  money,  because,  after  all,  I  think  you 

love  your  children,  and  like  to  see  'em  well  dressed.     It 's 

only  natural  that  a  father  should. 

How  much  money  do  I  want  .^    Let  me  see,  love.    There  's 

Caroline,  and  Jane,  and  Susan,  and  Mary  Anne,  and . 

25       What  do  you  say  ?     /  need  n't  count  'em  !     You  know 

how  many  there  are  !     That 's  just  the  way  you  take  me 

up ! 

Well,  how  much  money  will  it  take  ?     Let  me  see  — 

I  '11  tell  you  in  a  minute.    You  always  love  to  see  the  dear 
30  things  like  new  pins.    I  know  that,  Caudle  ;  and  though  I 

say  it,  bless  their  little  hearts !  they  do  credit  to  you, 

Caudle. 

How  much  ?    Now,  don't  be  in  a  hurry  !    Well,  I  think, 

with  good  pinching — and  you  know,  Caudle,  there  's  never 
35  a  wife  who  can  pinch  closer  than  I  can  —  I  think,  with 

pinching,  I  can  do  with  twenty  pounds. 
28* 


530  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Wliat  did  you  say  ?     Twenty  fiddlesticks  ? 

What !  Tou  won't  give  half  the  money  !  Very  well,  Mr. 
Caudle ;  I  don't  care ;  let  the  children  go  in  rags ;  let 
them  stop  from  church,  and  grow  up  like  heathens  and 
6  cannibals ;  and  then  you  '11  save  your  money,  and,  I  sup- 
pose, be  satisfied. 

What  do  you  say  ?  Ten  pounds  enough  ?  Yes,  just 
like  you  men  ;  you  think  things  cost  nothing  for  women ; 
but  you  don't  care  how  much  you  lay  out  upon  yourselves. 
10  They  only  want  frocks  and  bonnets  .^  How  do  you  know 
what  they  want  ?  How  should  a  man  know  anything  at 
all  about  it  ?  And  you  won't  give  more  than  ten  pounds  ? 
Very  well.  Then  you  may  go  shopping  with  it  yourself, 
and  see  what  you  '11  make  of  it !  I  '11  have  none  of  your 
15  ten  pounds,  I  can  tell  you  —  no,  sir  ! 

No  ;  you  've  no  cause  to  say  that.  I  don't  want  to  dress 
the  children  up  like  countesses !  You  often  throw  that  in 
my  teeth,  you  do  ;  but  you  know  it 's  false.  Caudle ;  you 
know  it !  I  only  wish  to  give  'em  proper  notions  of  them- 
20  selves  ;  and  what,  indeed,  can  the  poor  things  think,  when 
they  see  the  Briggses,  the  Browns,  and  the  Smiths,— 
and  their  fathers  don't  make  the  money  you  do,  Caudle,  — 
when  they  see  them  as  fine  as  tulips  ?  Why,  they  must 
think  themselves  nobody.  However,  the  twenty  pounds  I 
25  will  have,  if  I  've  any ;  or  not  a  farthing ! 

No,  sir ;  no,  —  I  don't  want  to  dress  up  the  children 
like  peacocks  and  parrots !  I  only  want  to  make  'em 
respectable. 

What  do  you  say  ?    You  'II  give  me  fifteen  pounds  ?    No, 

30  Caudle,  no  ;  not  a  penny  will  I  take  under  twenty.     If  I 

did,  it  would  seem  as  if  I  wanted  to  waste  your  money ; 

and  I  'm  sure,  when  I  come  to  think  of  it  twenty  pounds 

will  hardly  do ! 


HILLARD'S   sixth  EEADt:R.  331 

CXIL  — THE  BEIDGE  OF   SIGHS. 

Hood. 

[Thomas  Hood  was  born  in  London  in  1798,  and  died  in  1845.  He  was  des- 
tined for  commercial  pursuits,  and  at  an  early  age  was  placed  in  a  counting- 
house  in  his  native  city.  Being  of  a  delicate  constitution,  his  health  began  to 
fail ;  and  at  the  age  of  fifteen  he  was  sent  to  Dundee,  in  Scotland,  to  reside 
with  some  relatives.  Here  he  lived  for  two  years;  reading  much  in  a  desul- 
tory way,  and  gaining  strength  by  rambling,  fishing,  and  boating.  Upon  his 
return  to  London,  he  devoted  himself  for  some  time  to  the  art  of  engraving, 
and  thus  acquired  that  knowledge  of  drawing  which  he  afterwards  turned  to 
good  account  in  the  humorous  pictorial  illustrations  with  which  many  of  his 
works  were  accompanied.  But  his  tastes  were  strongly  literary ;  and  at  the 
age  of  twenty-three  he  embraced  the  profession  of  letters,  and  began  to  earn 
his  bread  by  his  pen.  His  life  was  one  of  severe  toil,  and,  from  his  delicate 
health  and  sensitive  temperament,  of  much  suffering,  always  sustained,  how- 
ever, with  manly  resolution  and  a  cheerful  spirit.  He  wrote  much  both  in 
prose  and  verse.  His  works  consist,  for  the  most  part,  of  collected  contribu- 
tions to  magazines  and  periodicals.  His  novel  of  "  Tylney  Hall "  was  not  very 
successful.  His  "  Whims  and  Oddities,"  of  which  three  volumes  were  pub- 
lished, and  his  "Hood's  Own,"  are  the  most  popular  of  his  writings.  "  Up 
the  Rhine"  is  the  narrative  of  an  imaginary  tour  in  Germany  by  a  family 
party.  "  Whimsicalities  "  is  a  collection  of  his  contributions  to  the  "  New 
Monthly  Magazine,"  of  which  he  was  at  one  time  the  editor.  At  the  time  of 
his  death  he  was  conducting  a  periodical  called  "  Hood's  Magazine,"  in  which 
some  of  his  best  pieces  appeared. 

Hood  was  a  man  of  peculiar  and  original  genius,  which  manifested  itself 
with  equal  power  and  ease  in  humor  and  pathos.  He  was  a  very  accurate 
observer  of  life  and  manners.  His  wit  is  revealed  by  a  boundless  profusion  of 
the  quaintest,  oddest,  and  most  unexpected  combinations ;  and  his  humor  is 
marked  alike  by  richness  and  delicacy.  As  a  punster,  he  stands  without  a 
rival.  No  one  else  has  given  so  much  expression  and  character  to  this  inferior 
form  of  wit.  His  serious  productions  are  mostly  in  the  form  of  verse,  and  are 
remarkable  for  sweetness  and  tenderness  of  feeling,  exquisite  fancy,  and 
finely  chosen  language.  A  few  of  them,  such  as  "  The  Dream  of  Eugene 
Aram,"  "  The  Song  of  the  Shirt,"  "  The  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  have  great  power 
and  pathos.  In  many  of  his  poems  the  sportive  and  serious  elements  are 
most  happily  blended.    "  A  Retrospective  Review  "  is  a  case  in  point.] 

1  One  more  Unfortunate, 
Weary  of  breath, 
Eashly  importunate, 
Gone  to  her  death ! 

2  Take  her  up  tenderly, 
Lift  her  with  care  ; 
Fashioned  so  slenderly, 
Young,  and  so  fair ! 


332  hillard's  sixth  reader, 

3  Look  at  her  garments 
Clinging  like  cerements ; 
Whilst  the  wave  constantly 
Drips  from  her  clothing ; 
Take  her  up  instantly. 
Loving,  not  loathing. 
Touch  her  not  scornfully, 
Think  of  her  mournfully, 
Gently  and  humanly ; 

Not  of  the  stains  of  her  — 
All  that  remains  of  her 
Now  is  pure  womanly. 

4  Make  no  deep  scrutiny 
Into  her  mutiny 
Eash  and  undutiful : 
Past  all  dishonor, 
Death  has  left  on  her 
Only  the  beautiful. 

5  Loop  up  her  tresses 
Escaped  from  the  comb, 
Her  fair  auburn  tresses ; 
While  wonderment  guesses 
Where  was  her  home  ? 

6  Who  was  her  father  ? 
Who  was  her  mother  ? 
Had  she  a  sister  ? 
Had  she  a  brother  ? 

Or  was  there  a  dearer  one 
Still,  and  a  nearer  one 
Yet,  than  all  other  ? 

7  Alas  !  for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  333 

Under  the  sun  ! 
Oh  !  it  was  pitiful ! 
Near  a  whole  city  full 
Home  she  had  none  ! 

8  Sisterly,  brotherly, 
Patherly,  motherly 
Feelings  had  changed : 
Love  by  harsh  evidence 
Thrown  from  its  eminence : 
Even  God's  providence 
Seeming  estranged. 

9  When  the  lamps  quiver 
So  far  in  the  river, 
With  many  a  light 

From  window  and  casement, 
From  garret  to  basement, 
She  stood  with  amazement, 
Houseless  by  night. 

10  The  bleak  wind  of  March 
Made  her  tremble  and  shiver ; 
But  not  the  dark  arch, 

Or  the  black  flowing  river : 
Mad  from  life's  history. 
Glad  to  death's  mystery 
Swift  to  be  hurled  — 
Anywhere,  anywhere. 
Out  of  the  world  — 
In  she  plunged  boldly, 
No  matter  how  coldly 
The  rough  river  ran. 

11  Take  her  up  tenderly. 
Lift  her  with  care  ; 


334  hellard's  sixth  reader. 

Fashioned  so  slenderly 
Young,  and  so  fair  ! 

12  Ere  her  limbs  frigidly 
StifiFen  too  rigidly, 
Decently,  kindly, 
Smooth,  and  compose  them ; 
And  her  eyes,  close  them, 
Staring  so  blindly ! 

13  Dreadfully  staring 
Through  muddy  impurity, 
As  when  with  the  daring 
Last  look  of  despairing 
Fixed  on  futurity, 

14  Perishing  gloomily. 
Spurred  by  contumely 
Cold  inhumanity, 
Burning  insanity. 
Into  her  rest.  — 
Cross  her  hands  humbly 
As  if  praying  dumbly, 
Over  her  breast. 

15  Owning  her  weakness. 
Her  evil  behavior, 

And  leaving,  with  meekness, 
Her  sins  to  her  Saviour  ! 


CXIII.  —  SPAKTACUS  TO  THE  GLADIATOKS. 

Keixogg. 

[Elijah  Kellogg  was  bom  in  Portland,  Maine,  and  was  graduated  at 
Bowdoin  College  in  1840.  In  1844  he  was  ordained  over  the  Congregational 
Society  of  Harpswell,    In  1855  he  removed  to  Boston,  and  became  pastor  of 


hillard's  sixth  eeader.  335 

the  Mariners'  Church,  under  the  patronage  of  the  Boston  Seamen's  Friend 
Society.    He  lias  since  continued  to  reside  there. 

The  following  is  a  supposed  speech  of  Spartacus,  who  was  a  real  person- 
age. He  was  a  Thracian  hy  birth,  and  a  gladiator,  who  headed  a  rebellion  of 
gladiators  and  slaves  against  the  Romans,  which  was  not  suppressed  until 
after  a  long  struggle,  in  which  he  showed  great  energy  and  ability.  A  praetor 
was  a  Roman  magistrate.  The  vestal  virgins  were  priestesses  of  Vesta.  They 
had  a  conspicuous  place  at  the  gladiatorial  shows.  The  ancients  attached 
great  importance  to  the  rites  of  sepulture,  and  believed  that  if  the  body  were 
not  buried,  the  soul  could  not  cross  the  Styx,  and  reach  the  Elysian  fields,  the 
abode  of  the  departed  spirits  of  the  good.] 

It  had  been  a  day  of  triumpli  in  Capua.  Lentulus, 
returning  with  victorious  eagles,  had  amused  the  populace 
with  the  sports  of  the  amphitheatre,  to  an  extent  hitherto 
unknown  even  in  that  luxurious  city.  The  shouts  of  rev- 
elry had  died  away ;  the  roar  of  the  lion  had  ceased ;  the 
last  loiterer  had  retired  from  the  banquet,  and  the  lights 
in  the  palace  of  the  victor  were  extinguished.  The  moon, 
piercing  the  tissue  of  fleecy  clouds,  silvered  the  dew-drop 
on  the  corselet  of  the  Eoman  sentinel,  and  tipped  the  dark 

10  waters  of  Yolturnus  with  wavy,  tremulous  light.  It  was 
a  night  of  holy  calm,  when  the  zephyr  sways  the  young 
spring  leaves,  and  whispers  among  the  hollow  reeds  its 
dreamy  music.  No  sound  was  heard  but  the  last  sob  of 
some  weary  wave,  telling  its  story  to  the  smooth  pebbles 

15  of  the  beach,  and  then  all  was  still  as  the  breast  when 
the  spirit  has  departed. 

In  the  deep  recesses  of  the  amphitheatre,  a  band  of  glad- 
iators were  crowded  together,  —  their  muscles  still  knotted 
with  the  agony  of  conflict,  the  foam  upon  their  lips,  and 

20  the  scowl  of  battle  yet  lingering  upon  their  brows,  — when 
Spartacus,  rising  in  the  midst  of  that  grim  assemblage, 
thus  addressed  them : 

"  Ye  call  me  chief,  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief, 
who,  for  twelve  long  years,  has  met  upon  the  arena  every 

25  shape  of  man  or  beast  that  the  broad  empire  of  Rome 
could  furnish,  and  yet  never  has  lowered  his  arm.  And 
if  there  be  one  among  you  who  can  say  that,  ever,  in  pub- 
lic fight  or  private  brawl,  my  actions  did  belie  my  tongue, 


336  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

let  him  step  forth  and  say  it.  If  there  be  three  in  all  your 
throng  dare  face  me  on  the  bloody  sand,  let  them  come  on  ! 
"  Yet,  I  was  not  always  thus,  a  hired  butcher,  a  savage 
chief  of  savage  men.  My  father  was  a  reverent  man,  who 
6  feared  great  Jupiter,  and  brought  to  the  rural  deities  his 
oflFerings  of  fruits  and  flowers.  He  dwelt  among  the  vine- 
clad  rocks  and  olive  groves  at  the  foot  of  Helicon.  My 
early  life  ran  quiet  as  the  brook  by  which  I  sported.  I 
was  taught  to  prune  the  vine,  to  tend  the  flock ;  and  then, 

10  at  noon,  I  gathered  my  sheep  beneath  the  shade,  and  played 
upon  the  shepherd's  flute.  I  had  a  friend,  the  son  of  our 
neighbor  ;  we  led  our  flocks  to  the  same  pasture,  and 
shared  together  our  rustic  meal. 

"  One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were  folded,  and  we  were 

15  all  seated  beneath  the  myrtle  that  shaded  our  cottage,  my 
grandsire,  an  old  man,  was  telling  of  Marathon  and  Leuctra, 
and  how,  in  ancient  times,  a  little  band  of  Spartans,  in  a 
defile  of  the  mountains,  withstood  a  whole  army.  I  did 
not  then  know  what  war  meant ;  but  my  cheeks  burned,  I 

20  knew  not  why ;  and  I  clasped  the  knees  of  that  venerable 
man,  till  my  mother,  parting  the  hair  from  ofi"  my  brow, 
kissed  my  throbbing  temples,  and  bade  me  go  to  rest,  and 
think  no  more  of  those  old  tales  and  savage  wars. 

"  That  very  night  the  Komans  landed  on  our  shore,  and 

25  the  clash  of  steel  was  heard  within  our  quiet  vale.  I  saw 
the  breast  that  had  nourished  me  trampled  by  the  iron 
hoof  of  the  war-horse ;  the  bleeding  body  of  my  father 
flung  amid  the  blazing  rafters  of  our  dwelling.  To-day  I 
killed  a  man  in  the  arena,  and  when  I  broke  his  helmet 

30  clasps,  behold!  it  was  my  friend  !  He  knew  me,  —  smiled 
faintly,  —  gasped,  —  and  died.  The  same  sweet  smile  that 
I  had  marked  upon  his  face,  when,  in  adventurous  boy- 
hood, we  scaled  some  lofty  cliff  to  pluck  the  first  ripe 
grapes,  and  bear  them  home  in  childish  triumph.     I  told 

35  the  Praetor  he  was  my  friend,  noble  and  brave,  and  I 
begged  his  body,  that  I  might  burn  it  upon  the  funeral- 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  337 

pile,  and  mourn  over  him.  Ay,  on  mj  knees,  amid  the 
dust  and  blood  of  the  arena,  I  begged  that  boon,  while 
all  the  Roman  maids  and  matrons,  and  those  holy  virgins 
they  call  vestal,  and  the  rabble,  shouted  in  mockery,  deem- 
5  ing  it  rare  sport,  forsooth,  to  see  Home's  fiercest  gladiator 
turn  pale,  and  tremble  like  a  very  child,  before  that  piece  of 
bleeding  clay  ;  but  the  Praetor  drew  back  as  if  I  were  pollu- 
tion, and  sternly  said,  '  Let  the  carrion  rot !  There  are  no 
noble  men  but  Eomans  ! '  And  he,  deprived  of  funeral  rites, 

10  must  wander,  a  hapless  ghost,  beside  the  waters  of  that  slug- 
gish river,  and  look  —  and  look  —  and  look  in  vain  to  the 
bright  Elysian  fields  where  dwell  his  ancestors  and  noble 
kindred.     And  so  must  you,  and  so  must  I,  die  like  dogs ! 
"  0  Eome  !  Rome !  thou  hast  been  a  tender  nurse  to  me ! 

15  Ay,  thou  hast  given  to  that  poor,  gentle,  timid  shepherd 
lad,  who  never  knew  a  harsher  sound  than  a  flute-note, 
muscles  of  iron,  and  a  heart  of  flint ;  taught  him  to  drive 
the  sword  through  rugged  brass  and  plaited  mail,  and 
warm  it  in  the  marrow  of  his  foe !  to  gaze  into  the  glaring 

20  eyeballs  of  the  fierce  Numidian  lion,  even  as  a  smooth 
cheeked  boy  upon  a  laughing  girl.  And  he  shall  pay  thee 
back  till  thy  yellow  Tiber  is  red  as  frothing  wine,  and  in 
its  deepest  ooze  thy  life-blood  lies  curdled ! 

"  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants,  as  ye  are  !  the  strength 

25  of  brass  is  in  your  toughened  sinews ;  but  to-morrow  some 
Roman  Adonis,  breathing  sweet  odors  from  his  curly  locks, 
shall  come,  and  with  his  lily  fingers  pat  your  brawny  shoul- 
ders, and  bet  his  sesterces  upon  your  blood  !  Hark !  Hear 
ye  yon  lion  roaring  in  his  den  ?    'T  is  three  days  since  he 

80  tasted  meat ;  but  to-morrow  he  shall  break  his  fast  upon 
your  flesh ;  and  ye  shall  be  a  dainty  meal  for  him. 

"  If  ye  are  brutes,  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen  waiting 
for  the  butcher's  knife ;  if  ye  are  men,  follow  me !  strike 
down  yon  sentinel,  and  gain  the  mountain  passes,  and  there 

S5  do  bloody  work  as  did  your  sires  at  old  Thermopylae !     Is 
Sparta  dead?     Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit  frozen  in  your 
29 


338  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

veins,  that  ye  do  crouch  and  cower  like  base-born  slaves, 
beneath  your  master's  lash  ?  O  !  comrades  !  warriors  ! 
Thracians !  if  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight  for  ourselves  ;  if 
we  must  slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors ;  if  we 
5  must  die,  let  us  die  under  the  open  sky,  by  the  bright 
waters,  in  noble,  honorable  battle." 


CXIV.  — THE   BATTLE   HYMN    OF    THE    BEKLIN 
LANDSTUKM. 

KORNER.  ^ 

[Karl  Theodoe  Korxer  was  born  September  23, 1791,  at  Dresden,  Sax- 
ony, and  was  killed  in  battle  against  the  French,  August  ^6,  1813.  Rewrote 
dramas  and  lyrical  poems,  — of  which  latter,  many  are  full  of  patriotic  feeling 
and  warlike  spirit.  In  Germany,  when  the  whole  people  are  called  upon  to 
take  arms  in  defence  of  their  country,  the  name  of  Landsturm  is  given  to  the 
military  force  thus  raised.] 

1  Father  of  earth  and  heaven !    I  calj  thy  name ! 

Bound  me  the  smoke  and  shout  of  battle  roll ; 
My  eyes  are  dazzled  with  the  rustling  flame ; 

Father,  sustain  an  untried  soldier's  soul. 

Or  life,  or  death,  whatever  be  the  goal 
That  crowns  or  closes  round  this  struggling  hour, 

Thou  knowest,  if  ever  from  my  spirit  stole 
One  deeper  prayer,  't  was  that  no  cloud  might  lower 
On  my  young  fame !  —  0  hear !  God  of  eternal  power  ! 

2  Grod !  thou  art  merciful.  —  The  wintry  storm. 

The  cloud  that  pours  the  thunder  from  its  womb, 
But  show  the  sterner  grandeur  of  thy  form ; 

The  lightnings,  glancing  through  the  midnight  gloom, 

To  Faith's  raised  eye,  as  calm,  as  lovely  come, 
As  splendors  of  the  autumnal  evening  star, 

As  roses  shaken  by  the  breeze's  plume, 

When  like  cool  incense  comes  the  dewy  air. 

And  on  the  golden  wave,  the  sunset  burns  afar. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  339 

J     God !  thou  art  mighty !  —  At  thy  footstool  bound, 
Lie  gazing  to  thee,  Chance  and  Life  and  Death ; 

Nor  in  the  Angel-circle  flaming  round, 

Nor  in  the  million  worlds  that  blaze  beneath, 

Is  one  that  can  withstand  thy  wrath's  hot  breath.  — • 

Woe  in  thy  frown  —  in  thy  smile  victory ! 

Hear  my  last  prayer !    I  ask  no  mortal  wreath ; 

Let  but  these  eyes  my  rescued  country  see, 
Then  take  my  spirit,  All  Omnipotent,  to  thee. 

!:     Now  for  the  fight  —  now  for  the  cannon  peal  — 

Forward  —  through  blood  and  toil  and  cloud  and  fire  ! 
Glorious  the  shout,  the  shock,  the  crash  of  steel, 
The  volley's  roll,  the  rocket's  blasting  spire  ; 
They  shake  —  like  broken  waves  their  squares  retire,  — 
On  them  hussars !  —  Now  give  them  rein  and  heel ; 

Think  of  the  orphaned  child,  the  murdered  sire :  — 
Earth  cries  for  blood,  —  in  thunder  on  them  wheel ! 
This  hour  to  Europe's  fate  shall  set  the  triumph-seal ! 


CXV.  — TKUE   GEEATNESS. 
Channing. 

[From  an  article  on  the  "  Life  and  Character  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,"  orig- 
inally published  in  the  "  Christian  Examiner,"  in  1827.J 

Such  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte.     But  some  will  say  he 

was  still  a  great  man.     This  we  mean  not  to  deny.     But 

we  would  have  it  understood,  that  there  are  various  kinds 

or  orders  of  greatness,  and  that  the  highest  did  not  belong 

5  to  Bonaparte. 

There  are  difibrent  orders  of  greatness.  Among  these, 
the  first  rank  is  unquestionably  due  to  moral  greatness,  or 
magnanimity  ;  to  that  sublime  energy  by  which  the  soul, 
smitten  with  the  love  of  virtue,  binds  itself  indissolubly, 


340  hillahd's  sixth  reader. 

for  life  and  for  death,  to  truth  and  duty ;  espouses  as  its 
own  the  interests  of  human  nature  ;  scorns  all  meanness, 
and  defies  all  peril ;  hears  in  its  own  conscience  a  voice 
louder  than  threatenings  and  thunders ;  withstands  all  the 
5  powers  of  the  universe  which  would  sever  it  from  the  cause 
of  freedom  and  religion ;  reposes  an  unfaltering  trust  in 
God  in  the  darkest  hour ;  and  is  ever  "  ready  to  be  offered 
up  "  on  the  altar  of  its  country  or  of  mankind. 

Of  this  moral  greatness,  which  throws  all  other  forms  of 

10  greatness  into  obscurity,  we  see  not  a  trace  in  Napoleon. 
Though  clothed  with  the  power  of  a  God,  the  thought  of 
consecrating  himself  to  the  introduction  of  a  new  and 
higher  era,  to  the  exaltation  of  the  character  and  condi- 
tion of  his  race,  seems  never  to  have  dawned  on  his  mind. 

15  The  spirit  of  disinterestedness  and  self-sacrifice  seems  not 
to  have  waged  a  moment's  war  with  self-will  and  ambition. 
His  ruling  passions,  indeed,  were  singularly  at  variance 
with  magnanimity.     Moral  greatness  has  too  much  sim- 
plicity, is  too  unostentatious,  too  self-subsistent,  and  enters 

20  into  others'  interests  with  too  much  heartiness,  to  live  an 
hour  for  what  Napoleon  always  lived,  to  make  itself  the 
theme  and  gaze  and  wonder  of  a  dazzled  world. 

Next  to  moral  comes  intellectual  greatness,  or  genius  in 
the  highest  sense  of  that  word  ;  and  by  this  we  mean  that 

25  sublime  capacity  of  thought,  through  which  the  soul,  smit- 
ten with  the  love  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  essays  to 
comprehend  the  universe,  soars  into  the  heavens,  pene- 
trates the  earth,  penetrates  itself,  questions  the  past,  an- 
ticipates the  future,  traces  out  the  general  and  all  compre- 

80  bending  laws  of  nature,  binds  together  by  innumerable 
affinities  and  relations  all  the  objects  of  its  knowledge, 
rises  from  the  finite  and  transient  to  the  infinite  and  the 
everlasting,  frames  to  itself,  from  its  own  fulness,  lovelier 
and  sublimer  forms  than  it  beholds,  discerns  the  harmonies 

35  between  the  world  within  and  the  world  without  us,  and 
finds  in  every  region  of  the  universe  types  and  interpreters 


hillard's  sixth  eeader.  341 

of  its  own  deep  mysteries  and  glorious  inspirations.  This 
is  the  greatness  which  belongs  to  philosophers,  and  to  the 
master-spirits  in  poetry  and  the  fine  arts. 

Next  comes  the  greatness  of  action  ;  and  by  this  we  mean 

5  the  sublime  power  of  conceiving  bold  and  extensive  plans ;  j 

of  constructing  and  bringing  to  bear  on  a  mighty  object,  a 

complicated  machinery  of  means,  energies,  and  arrange-) 

ments,  and  of  accomplishing  great  outward  efi'ects. 

To  this  head  belongs  the  greatness  of  Bonaparte,  and  that 

10  he  possessed  it,  we  need  not  prove,  and  none  will  be  hardy 
enough  to  deny.  A  man  who  raised  himself  from  obscurity 
to  a  throne  ;  who  changed  the  face  of  the  world  ;  who  made 
himself  felt  through  powerful  and  civilized  nations ;  who^ 
sent  the  terror  of  his  name  across  seas  and  oceans ;  whose 

15  will  was  pronounced  and  feared  as  destiny ;  whose  dona- 
tives were  crowns ;  whose  antechamber  was  thronged  by 
submissive  princes ;  who  broke  down  the  awful  barrier  of 
the  Alps,  and  made  them  a  highway ;  and  whoso  fame  was 
spread  beyond  the  boundaries  of  civilization  to  the  steppes 

20  of  the  Cossack,  and  the  deserts  of  the  Arab,  —  a  man,  who  \ 
has  left  this  record  of  himself  in  history,  has  taken  out  of 
our  hands  the  question,  whether  he  shall  be  called  great. 
All  must  concede  to  him  a  sublime  power  of  action  —  an 
energy  equal  to  great  effects. 


CXVI.— PEISONEES'  EVENING  SEEVICE— A  SCENE 
OF  THE  FEENCH  EEVOLUTION. 

Mrs.  Hemans. 

[The  Eeig-n  of  Terror  was  the  period  in  French  history  from  June  2, 1793, 
to  July  27,  1794,  during  which  Eobespierre  was  at  the  head  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  a  great  many  persona  were  put  to  death  by  the  revolutionary  tri- 
bunals. 

A  royalist  father  and  his  daughter  have  been  condemned  to  death,  and  the 
following  dialogue  is  supposed  to  take  place  between  them,  iu  prison,  on  the 
evening  before  their  execution.] 

29* 


342^  '""hillard's  sixth  reader.^ 

[Scene— A  Prison  in  Paris,  during  the  Reifpi  of  Terror.] 

D'Aubigne'  '•••'  an  aged  loyalist,  —  Blanche,  his  Daughter,  a 
young  girl. 

Blanche.   What  was  our  doom,  my  father  ?     In  thine 
arms 
I  lay  unconsciously  through  that  dread  hour. 
Tell  me  the  sentence  !  —  Could  our  judges  look, 
Without  relenting,  on  thy  silvery  hair  ? 
5  Was  there  not  mercy,  father  ?. —  Will  they  not 
Hasten  us  to  our  home  ? 

D'Aubigne'.  Yes,  my  poor  child  ! 

They  send  us  home. 

Blanche.  Oh !  shall  we  gaze  again 

10  On  the  bright  Loire?  —  Will  the  old  hamlet-spire, 
And  the  gray  turret  of  our  own  chateau, 
Look  forth  to  greet  us  through  the  dusky  elms  ? 
Will  the  kind  voices  of  our  villagers, 
The  loving  laughter  in  their  children's  eyes, 
15  Welcome  us  hack  at  last?  —  But  how  is  this  ? 

—  Father !  thy  glance  is  clouded,  —  on  thy  brow 
There  sits  no  joy  ! 

D'Aubigne'.      Upon  my  brow,  dear  girl. 
There  sits,  I  trust,  such  deep  and  solemn  peace 
20  As  may  befit  the  Christian,  who  receives 
And  recognizes,  in  submissive  awe, 
The  summons  of  his  God. 

Blanche.  Thou  dost  not  mean-— 

—  No,  no  !  it  cannot  be  !  —  Didst  thou  not  say 
25  They  send  us  home  ? 

D'Aubigne'.         Where  is  the  spirit's  home  ?  — 
Oh  !  most  of  all,  in  these  dark  evil  days, 
Where  should  it  be,  but  in  that  world  serene. 
Beyond  the  sword's  reach,  and  the  tempest's  power?-— 
30  Where,  but  in  Heaven. 

*  Pronounced  I)9-ben'ya. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  343 

Blanche.  My  father ! 

D'Aubigne'.  We  must  die  ! 

We  must  look  up  to  God,  and  calmly  die. 

—  Come  to  my  heart,  and  weep  there  !  —  for  awhile 
5  Give  Nature's  passion  way,  then  brightly  rise 

In  the  still  courage  of  a  woman's  heart ! 

Do  I  not  know  thee  ?  —  Do  I  ask  too  much 

From  mine  own  noble  Blanche  ? 

Blanche  {falling  on  his  bosom.)     Oh  !  clasp  me  fast  I 
10  Thy  trembling  child !  —  Hide,  hide  me  in  thine  arms  — 

Father ! 

D'Aubigne'.    Alas  !  my  flower,  thou  'rt  young  to  go,  — • 

Young,  and  so  fair !  —  Yet  were  it  worse,  methinks, 

To  leave  thee  where  the  gentle  and  the  brave, 
15  The  loyal-hearted  and  the  chivalrous. 

And  they  that  loved  their  God,  have  all  been  swept, 

Like  the  sere  leaves,  away.  —  For  them  no  hearth 

Through  the  wide  land  was  left  inviolate. 

No  altar  holy ;  therefore  did  they  fall, 
20  Eejoicing  to  depart.  —  The  soil  is  steeped 

In  noble  blood  ;  the  temples  are  gone  down, 

The  voice  of  prayer  is  hushed,  or  fearfully 

Muttered,  like  sounds  of  guilt.  —  Why,  who  would  live  ? 

Who  hath  not  panted,  as  a  dove,  to  flee, 
25  To  quit  forever  the  dishonored  soil. 

The  burdened  air  ?  —  Our  God  upon  the  cross,  — 

Our  king  upon  the  scaff'old,  —  let  us  think 

Of  these,  —  and  fold  endurance  to  our  hearts. 

And  bravely  die ! 
30      Blanche.         A  dark  and  fearful  way ! 

An  evil  doom  for  thy  dear  honored  head ! 

0  !  thou,  the  kind,  the  gracious  !  —  whom  all  eyes 

Blessed  as  they  looked  upon !  —  Speak  yet  again,  — 

Say,  will  they  part  us  ? 
35       D'Aubigne'.  No,  my  Blanche ;  in  death 

We  shall  not  be  divided. 


344 


Blanche.     Thanks  to  God  ! 
He,  by  thy  glance,  will  aid  me  ;  I  shall  see 
His  light  before  me  to  the  last.  —  And  when  — 
Oh  !  pardon  these  weak  shrinkings  of  thy  child  I  — 
5  When  shall  the  hour  befall  ? 

D'Aubigne'.  Oh  !  swiftly  now, 

And  suddenly,  with  brief,  dread  interval. 
Comes  down  the  mortal  stroke.  —  But  of  that  hour 
As  yet  I  know  not.  —  Each  low  throbbing  pulse 

10  Of  the  quick  pendulum  may  usher  in 
Eternity ! 

Blanche  Qcneeling  before  him.)  My  father  I  lay  thy  hand 
On  thy  poor  Blanche's  head,  and  once  again 
Bless  her  with  thy  deep  voice  of  tenderness, 

15  Thus  breathing  saintly  courage  through  her  soul, 
Ere  we  are  called. 

D'Aubigne'.     If  I  may  speak  through  tears ! — 
Well  may  I  bless  thee,  fondly,  fervently, 
Child  of  my  heart  I  —  thou  who  dost  look  on  me 

20  With  thy  lost  mother's  angel-eyes  of  love ! 
Thou  that  hast  been  a  brightness  in  my  path, 
A  guest  of  Heaven  unto  my  lonely  soul, 
A  stainless  lily  in  my  widowed  house, 
There  springing  up,  —  with  soft  light  round  thee  shed,  — 

25  For  immortality  !  —  Meek  child  of  God  ! 

I  bless  thee —  He  will  bless  thee  !  —  In  His  love 
He  calls  thee  now  from  this  rude,  stormy  world, 
To  thy  Eedeemer's  breast.  —  And  thou  wilt  die, 
As  thou  hast  lived,  —  my  duteous,  holy  Blanche ! 

30  In  trusting  and  serene  submissiveness, 
Humble,  yet  full  of  Heaven. 

Blanche  {rising.)  Now  is  there  strength 

Infused  through  all  my  spirit.  —  I  can  rise 
And  say,  —  "  Thy  will  be  done  !  " 

35       D'Aubigne'  {pointing  upwards.)   Seest  thou,  my  child. 
Yon  faint  light  in  the  west  ?     The  signal-star 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  345 

Of  our  due  vesper-service,  gleaming  in 

Througli  the  close  dungeon-grating  !  —  Mournfully 

It  seems  to  quiver ;  yet  shall  this  night  pass, 

This  night  alone,  without  the  lifted  voice 

Of  adoration  in  our  narrow  cell, 

As  if  unworthy  Fear  or  wavering  Faith 

Silenced  the  strain  ?  —  No  !  let  it  waft  to  Heaven 

The  Prayer,  the  Hope,  of  poor  Mortality, 

In  its  dark  hour  once  more  !  —  And  we  will  sleep  — 

Yes,  calmly  sleep,  when  our  last  rite  is  closed. 

{They  sing  togeth&r.) 


CXYIL  — THE   LAST    HOUES   OF   WEBSTEE. 

■     Everett. 

[The  following  extract  is  the  concluding  portion  of  a  speech  delivered  by 
Mr.  Everett,  October  27,  1852,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Boston,  at  a  meeting  of  the  cit- 
izens of  Boston,  assembled  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  Mr.  Webster,  which 
had  taken  place  on  the  24th.] 

Among  the  many  memorahle  words  which  fell  from  the 
lips  of  our  friend  just  before  they  were  closed  forever,  the 
most  remarkable  are  those  which  have  been  quoted  by  a 
previous  speaker,  —  "I  still  live."  They  attest  the  se- 
5  rene  composure  of  his  mind  ;  the  Christian  heroism  with 
which  he  was  able  to  turn  his  consciousness  in  upon  him- 
self, and  explore,  step  by  step,  the  dark  passage  (dark  to 
us,  but  to  him,  we  trust,  already  lighted  from  above), 
which  connects  this  world  with  the  world  to  come.  But  I 
10  know  not  what  words  could  have  been  better  chosen  to 
express  his  relation  to  the  world  he  was  leaving —  "  I  still 
live."  This  poor  dust  is  just  returning  to  the  dust  from 
which  it  was  taken,  but  I  feel  that  I  live  in  the  aiFections 
of  the  people  to  whose  services  I  have  consecrated  my 
days.     "  I  still  live."     The  icy  hand  of  death  is  already 


346  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

laid  on  my  heart,  but  I  shall  still  live  in  those  words  of 
counsel  which  I  have  uttered  to  my  fellow-citizens,  and 
which  I  now  leave  them  as  the  last  bequest  of  a  dying 
friend. 
5  In  the  long  and  honored  career  of  our  lamented  friend, 
there  are  efforts  and  triumphs  which  will  hereafter  fill  one 
of  the  brightest  pages  of  our  history.  But  I  greatly  err 
if  the  closing  scene  —  the  height  of  the  religious  sublime 
—  does  not,  in  the  judgment  of  other  days,  far  transcend 

10  in  interest  the  brightest  exploits  of  public  life.  Within 
that  darkened  chamber  at  Marshfield  was  witnessed  a 
scene  of  which  we  shall  not  readily  find  the  parallel.  The 
serenity  with  which  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  King 
of  Terrors,  without  trepidation  or  flutter,  for  hours  and 

15  days  of  expectation :  the  though tfulness  for  the  public  busi- 
ness, when  the  sands  were  so  nearly  run  out ;  the  hospitable 
care  for  the  reception  of  the  friends  who  came  to  Marsh- 
field  ;  that  affectionate  and  solemn  leave  separately  taken, 
name  by  name,   of  wife  and  children  and  kindred  and 

20  friends  and  family,  down  to  the  humblest  members  of  the 
household ;  the  designation  of  the  coming  day,  then  near 
at  hand,  when  "  all  that  was  mortal  of  Daniel  Webster 
should  cease  to  exist!  "  the  dimly-recollected  strains  of 
the  funeral  poetry  of  Gray ;  the  last  faint  flash  of  the 

25  soaring  intellect ;  the  feebly-murmured  words  of  Holy  Writ 
repeated  from  the  lips  of  the  good  physician,  who,  when 
all  the  resources  of  human  art  had  been  exhausted,  had  a 
drop  of  spiritual  balm  for  the  parting  soul ;  the  clasped 
hands ;  the  dying  prayers.     Oh !  my  fellow-citizens,  this 

30  is  a  consummation  over  which  tears  of  pious  sympathy 
will  be  shed  ages  after  the  glories  of  the  forum  and  the 
senate  are  forgotten. 

"  His  suflfe rings  ended  with  the  day, 
Yet  lived  he  at  its  close ; 
35  And  breathed  the  long,  long  night  away, 

In  statue-like  repose. 


347 


*'  But  ere  the  Sun,  in  all  his  state. 
Illumed  the  Eastern  skies, 
He  passed  through  glory's  morning  gate, 
And  walked  in  Paradise." 


CXVIII  — HYMN   BEFOEE   SUNEISE,  IN    THE  VAL- 
LEY  OF   CHAMOUNI,  SWITZEELAND. 

Coleridge. 

[Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  was  bom  at  Ottery  St.  Mary,  in  Devonshire, 
England,  October  21,  1772,  and  died  July  25, 1834.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  of  his  time;  and  few  writers  have  exerted  a  wider  and 
deeper  intellectual  influence  than  he.  His  influence,  too,  is  most  felt  by  minds 
of  the  highest  class.  He  was  an  original  and  imaginative  poet,  a  profound  and 
Buggestive  philosophical  writer,  and  a  critic  of  unrivalled  excellence.  His 
works  are  somewhat  fragmentary  in  their  character,  for  he  wanted  patience  in 
Intellectual  construction ;  but  they  are  the  fragments  of  a  noble  edifice.  In 
conversational  eloquence  he  is  said  to  have  excelled  all  his  contemporaries. 

Coleridge's  life  was  not  in  all  respects  what  the  admirers  of  his  genius  could 
have  wished.  His  great  defect  was  a  want  of  will.  He  could  see  the  right, 
but  not  always  go  to  it ;  he  could  see  the  wrong,  but  not  always  go  from  it.] 

1  Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning-star 

In  his  steep  course  ?     So  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  0  sovereign  Blanc  ! 
The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Eave  ceaselessly ;  but  thou,  most  awful  form, 
Eisest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines. 
How  silently !     Around  thee,  and  above. 
Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black. 
An  ebon  mass :  methinks  thou  piercest  it 
As  with  a  wedge.     But  when  I  look  again, 
It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity. 

2  0  dread  and  silent  Mount !     I  gazed  upon  thee 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought :  entranced  in  prayer 
I  worshipped  the  Invisible  alone. 


348  HILLARD'S   sixth  IlEADEB.^"^t 

3  Yet,  like  some  sweet  beguiling  melody,  — 

So  sweet  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, — 

Thou,  the  mean  while,  wast  blending  with  my  thought, 

Yea,  with  my  life,  and  life's  own  secret  joy  ; 

Till  the  dilating  soul,  enrapt,  transfused. 

Into  the  mighty  vision  passing  —  there. 

As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  heaven. 

4  Awake,  my  soul !  not  only  passive  praise 
Thou  owest !  not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 
Mute  thanks,  and  secret  ecstasy !     Awake, 
Voice  of  sweet  song  I     Awake,  my  heart,  awake  I 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliflfs  !  all  join  my  hymn. 

6     Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  sovereign  of  the  vale ! 
0,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night, 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars. 
Or  when  they  climb  the  sky,  or  when  they  sink,  — 
Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn. 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald  —  wake,  0  wake,  and  utter  praise  I 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth  ? 
"Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light  ? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams  ? 

6     And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents  fiercely  glad  ! 
Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 
From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 
Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 
Forever  shattered,  and  the  same  forever  ? 
Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 
Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy. 
Unceasing  thunder,  and  eternal  foam  ? 
And  who  commanded,  —  and  the  silence  came,  — 
**  Here  let  the  billows  stiffen  and  have  rest "  ? 


hillard's  sixth  readePw,  349 

Ye  ice-falls  !  ye  that  from  the  mountain's  brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain  — 
Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 
And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge ! 
Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts  ! 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?     Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?     Who,  with  living  flowers  ' 
Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ? 
God !  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Answer  !  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God  ! 
God  !  sing,  ye  meadow  streams,  with  gladsome  voice ! 
Ye  pine  groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds  I 
And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 
And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  God  ! 

Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the  eternal  frost ! 
Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest ! 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain  storm ! 
Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds ! 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements ! 
Utter  forth  God,  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise ! 


CXIX.  — OLD  lEONSIDES. 

Holmes. 

[The  following  spirited  lines  were  called  forth  by  a  rumor  that  the  fi-igate 
Coustitution  was  about  to  be  broken  up  as  unfit  for  service.] 

1     Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  I 
Long  has  it  waved  on  high. 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 
And  burst  the  cannon's  roar ; 
30 


350  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 
Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 

2  Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood. 

And  waves  were  white  below, 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee ; 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea. 

3  0,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave : 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave. 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Bet  every  threadbare  sail. 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms  — 

The  lightning  and  the  gale ! 


CXX.  — CHAKACTEK   OF   LAFAYETTE. 

Adams. 

[John  Quincy  Adams  was  bom  in  Braintree,  Massachusetts,  July  11, 1767, 
and  died  at  Washington,  February  23,  1848.  He  was  for  half  a  century  in  the 
service  of  his  country,  as  foreign  minister.  United  States  senator,  secretary  of 
state,  president  of  the  United  States,  and  from  1831  to  the  time  of  his  death 
member  of  the  house  of  representatives.  He  was  a  man  of  indomitable  energy, 
dauntless  courage,  indefatigable  industry,  and  ardent  patriotism.  His  political 
opinions  made  him  many  enemies,  especially  in  his  declining  years,  but  no  one 
ever  doubted  his  honesty  and  integrity,  or  failed  to  respect  the  spotless  purity 
of  his  private  life.  His  systematic  industry  enabled  him  to  accomplish  an  im- 
mense deal  of  work.  He  was  a  man  of  extensive  learning,  and  familiar  with 
ancient  and  modern  literature.  His  writings,  consisting  of  speeches,  addresses, 
lectures,  and  reports,  are  numerous  enough  to  fill  several  volumes.  He  was 
for  a  short  time  professor  of  rhetoric  and  oratory  in  Harvard  College,  and  the 
lectures  he  delivered  in  that  capacity  were  published  in  1810,  in  two  octavo 
volumes.  The  following  extract  is  from  "  An  Oration  on  the  Life  and  Char- 
acter of  Lafayette,"  delivered  before  the  two  houses  of  congress,  at  Washings 
ton,  December  31, 1S34.J 


hillaed's  sixth  readek.  351 

Lafayette  discovered  no  new  principle  of  politics  or  of 
morals.  He  invented  nothing  in  science.  He  disclosed  no 
new  phenomenon  in  the  laws  of  nature.  Bom  and  edu- 
cated in  the  highest  order  of  feudal  nobility,  under  the 
5  most  absolute  monarchy  of  Europe,  in  possession  of  an 
affluent  fortune,  and  master  of  himself  and  of  all  his  capa- 
bilities at  the  moment  of  attaining  manhood,  the  princi- 
ples of  republican  justice  and  of  social  equality  took  pos- 
session of  his  heart  and  mind,  as  if  by  inspiration  from 

10  above. 

He  devoted  himself,  his  life,  his  fortune,  his  hereditary 

.     honors,  his  towering  ambition,  his  splendid  hopes,  all  to 

the  cause  of  liberty.     He  went  to  another  hemisphere  to 

defend  her.     He  became  one  of  the  most  effective  cham- 

15  pions  of  our  independence ;  but  that  once  achieved,  he 
returned  to  his  own  country,  and  thenceforward  took  no 
part  in  the  controversies  which  have  divided  us. 

In  the  events  of  our  revolution,  and  in  the  form  of 
policy  which  we  have  adopted  for  the  establishment  and 

20  perpetuation  of  our  freedom,  Lafayette  found  the  most 
perfect  form  of  government.  He  wished  to  add  nothing 
to  it.  He  would  gladly  have  abstracted  nothing  from  it. 
Instead  of  an  imaginary  Utopia,  he  took  a  practical  exist- 
ing model,  in  actual  operation  here,  and  never  attempted 

25  or  wished  more  than  to  apply  it  faithfully  to  his  own 
country. 

It  was  not  given  to  Moses  to  enter  the  promised  land  ;  but 
he  saw  it  from  the  mount  of  Pisgah.  It  was  not  given  to 
Lafayette  to  witness  the  consummation  of  his  wishes  in 

30  the  establishment  of  a  republic,  and  the  extinction  of  all 
hereditary  rule  in  France.  His  principles  were  in  advance 
of  the  age  and  hemisphere  in  which  he  lived.  The  life  of 
the  patriarch  was  not  long  enough  for  the  development  of 
his  whole  political  system. 

35  This  is  not  the  time  or  the  place  for  a  disquisition  upon 
the  comparative  merits,  as  a  system  of  government,  of  a 


352  hillard's  sixth  keader. 

republic,  and  a  monarchy  surrounded  by  republican  insti- 
tutions. Upon  this  subject  there  is  among  us  no  diversity 
of  opinion ;  and  if  it  should  take  the  people  of  France 
another  half  century  of  internal  and  external  war,  of  daz- 
5  zling  and  delusive  glories,  of  unparalleled  triumphs,  hu- 
miliating reverses,  and  bitter  disappointments,  to  settle  it 
to  their  satisfaction,  the  ultimate  result  can  only  bring 
them  to  the  point  where  we  have  stood  from  the  day  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  to  the  point  where  Lafayette 

10  would  have  brought  them,  and  to  which  he  looked  as  a 
consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished.  Then,  and  then 
only,  will  be  the  time  when  the  character  of  Lafayette  will 
be  appreciated  at  its  true  value  throughout  the  civilized 
world. 

15  When  the  principle  of  hereditary  dominion  shall  be 
extinguished  in  all  the  institutions  of  Trance  ;  when  gov- 
ernment shall  no  longer  be  considered  as  property  trans- 
missible from  sire  to  son,  but  as  a  trust  committed  for  a 
limited  time,  and  then  to  return  to  the  people  whence  it 

20  came,  —  then  will  be  the  time  for  contemplating  the  char- 
acter of  Lafayette,  not  merely  in  the  events  of  his  life,  but 
m  the  full  development  of  his  intellectual  conceptions,  of 
his  fervent  aspirations,  of  the  labors  and  perils  and  sacri- 
fices of  his  long  and  eventful  career  upon  earth ;   and 

25  thenceforward,  till  the  hour  when  the  trump  of  the  arch- 
angel shall  sound  to  announce  that  time  shall  be  no  more, 
the  name  of  Lafayette  shall  stand  enrolled  upon  the  annals 
of  our  race,  high  on  the  list  of  the  pure  and  disinterested 
benefactors  of  mankind. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  353 

CXXL  — HYMN   OF   PEAISE    BY  ADAM   AND  EVE. 

Milton. 

[JOHX  Milton  was  born  in  London,  December  9, 1608,  and  died  November 
8,  1074.  His  is  one  of  the  greatest  names  in  allliterature;  and  of  course  it 
would  be  impossible  in  the  compass  of  a  brief  notice  like  this  to  point  out, 
except  in  the  most  cursory  manner,  the  elements  of  his  intellectual  suprem- 
acy. His  "  Comus,"  "  Lycidas,"  "  L'AUegro,"  "  II  Penseroso,"  and  "  Arcades," 
were  written  before  he  was  thirty  years  old;  "  Paradise  Lost,"  "Paradise  Re- 
gained," and  "  Samson  Agonistes  "  were  all  published  after  his  lifty-ninth 
year,  and  many  years  after  he  had  been  totally  blind.  His  prose  works  were 
the  growth  of  the  intermediate  period. 

Milton's  early  poetry  is  full  of  morning  freshness,  and  the  spirit  of  unworn 
youth;  the  "Paradise  Lost"  is  characterized  by  the  highest  sublimity,  the 
most  various  learning,  and  the  noblest  pictures ;  and  the  "  Paradise  Regained  " 
and  "  Samson  Agonistes  "  have  a  serene  and  solemn  grandeur,  deepening  in 
the  latter  into  austerity;  while  all  are  marked  by  imaginative  power,  purity, 
and  elevation  of  tone,  and  the  finest  harmony  of  verse. 

His  prose  works,  which  are  partly  in  Latin  and  partly  in  English,  were  for 
the  most  part  called  forth  by  the  ecclesiastical  and  political  controversies  of 
the  stormy  period  in  which  he  lived.  They  are  vigorous  and  eloquent  in 
style,  and  abound  in  passages  of  the  highest  beauty  and  loftiest  tone  of  senti- 
ment. 

Milton's  character  is  hardly  less  worthy  ot  admiration  than  his  genius. 
Spotless  in  morals ;  simple  in  his  tastes ;  of  ardent  piety ;  bearing  with  cheer- 
fulness the  burdens  of  blindness,  poverty,  and  neglect;  bending  his  genius  to 
the  humblest  duties,  —  he  presents  an  exalted  model  of  excellence,  in  which 
we  can  find  nothing  to  qualify  our  reverence,  except  a  certain  severity  of  tem- 
per, and  perhaps  a  somewhat  impatient  and  intolerant  spirit. 

The  following  passage  is  from  the  fifth   book  of  "  Paradise  Lost."] 

These  are  tliy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  good, 
Almighty  !     Thine  this  universal  frame, 
Thus  wondrous  fair  !     Thyself  how  wondrous  then. 
Unspeakable  !  who  sittest  above  these  heavens, 
5  To  us  invisible,  or  dimly  seen 

In  these  thy  lowest  works ;  yet  these  declare 
Thy  goodness  beyond  thought,  and  power  divine. 
Speak,  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light. 
Angels  ;  for  ye  behold  him,  and  with  songs 
10  And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night, 
Circle  his  throne  rejoicing ;  ye  in  heaven, 
On  earth  join  all  ye  creatures  to  extol 
Him  first,  him  last,  him  midst,  and  without  end. 
Fairest  of  stars,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 
30* 


354  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

If  better  thou  "belong  not  to  the  dawn, 
Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crownest  the  smiling  mom 
With  thy  bright  circlet,  praise  him  in  thy  sphere, 
While  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime. 
5  Thou  sun,  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  soul, 
Acknowledge  him  thy  greater  ;  sound  his  praise 
In  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climbest, 
And  when  high  noon  hast  gained ;  and  when  thou  fallest. 
Ye  mists  and  exhalations,  that  now  rise 

10  From  hill  or  steaming  lake,  dusky  or  gray, 
Till  the  sun  paint  your  fleecy  skirts  with  gold, 
In  honor  to  the  world's  great  Author  rise  ; 
Whether  to  deck  with  clouds  the  uncolored  sky, 
Or  wet  the  thirsty  earth  with  falling  showers, 

15  Kising  or  falling,  still  advance  his  praise. 

His  praise,  ye  winds  that  from  four  quarters  blow. 
Breathe  soft  or  loud  ;  and  wave  your  tops,  ye  pines. 
With  every  plant,  in  sign  of  worship  wave. 
Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble,  as  ye  flow, 

20  Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  his  praise. 
Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls  ;  ye  birds. 
That  singing  up  to  heaven's  gate  ascend, 
Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  his  praise. 
Ye  that  in  waters  glide,  and  ye  that  walk 

25  The  earth  and  stately  tread  or  lowly  creep ; 
Witness  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 
To  hill  or  valley,  fountain  or  fresh  shade. 
Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  his  praise. 
Hail,  universal  Lord,  be  bounteous  still 

30  To  give  us  only  good ;  and  if  the  night 
Have  gathered  aught  of  evil  or  concealed, 
Disperse  it,  as  more  light  dispels  the  dark. 


355 


CXXII.  — SONG    or    THE    GKEEKS. 

Campbell. 

[These  stirring  lines  were  written  wtiile  tlie  struggle  between  the  Greeks 
and  Turks  was  going  on,  which  ended  in  the  establishment  of  Greece  as  an 
independent  kingdom.] 

1  Again  to  the  battle,  Achaians  ! 
Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance  ; 

Our  land,  — the  first  garden  of  Liberty's  tree,  — 

It  hath  been,  and  shall  yet  be,  the  land  of  the  free ; 

Eor  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted. 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted. 

And  we  march  that  the  footprints  of  Mahomet's  slaves 

May  be  washed  out  in  blood  from  our  forefathers'  graves. 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o'er  us. 

And  the  sword  shall  to  glory  restore  us. 

2  Ah  !  what  though  no  succor  advances, 
Nor  Christendom's  chivalrous  lances 

Are  stretched  in  our  aid  ?  —  Be  the  combat  our  own  ! 
And  we  '11  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone  ! 
Eor  we  've  sworn  by  our  country's  assaulters, 
By  the  virgins  they  've  dragged  from  our  altars. 
By  our  massacred  patriots,  our  children  in  chains, 
By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 
That,  living,  we  shall  be  victorious, 
Or  that,  dying,  our  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

3  A  breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not : 

The  sword  that  we  've  drawn  we  will  sheathe  not : 
Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid. 
And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 
Earth  may  hide,  waves  engulf,  fire  consume  us  ; 
But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us. 
If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves :  — 
But  we  've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the  waves, 


356  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us  :  — 
To  the  charge  !  —  Heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 

4  This  day  —  shall  ye  blush  for  its  story  ; 
Or  brighten  your  lives  with  its  glory  ?  — 

Our  women  —  Oh  !  say,  shall  they  shriek  in  despair, 

Or  embrace  us  from  conquest,  with  wreaths  in  their  hair? 

Accursed  may  his  memory  blacken, 

If  a  coward  there  be  who  would  slacken 

Till  we  've  trampled  the  turban,  and  shown  ourselves  worth 

Being  sprung  from,  and  named  for,  the  godlike  of  earth. 

Strike  home  !  —  and  the  world  shall  revere  us 

As  heroes  descended  from  heroes. 

5  Old  Greece  lightens  up  with  emotion  ! 
Her  inlands,  her  isles  of  the  ocean, 

Fanes  rebuilt,  and  fair  towns  shall  with  jubilee  ring. 

And  the  Nine  shall  new  hallow  their  Helicon's  spring. 

Our  hearths  shall  be  kindled  in  gladness. 

That  were  cold,  and  extinguished  in  sadness  ; 

Whilst  our  maidens  shall  dance  with  their  white  waving 

arms, 
Singing  joy  to  the  brave  that  delivered  their  charms,  — 
When  the  blood  of  yon  Mussulman  cravens 
Shall  have  crimsoned  the  beaks  of  our  ravens  ! 


CXXIIL  —  A  PAKENTAL  ODE  TO  MY  INFANT  SON. 

Hood. 
1  Thou  happy,  happy  elf ! 

(But  stop  —  first  let  me  kiss  away  that  tear)— 

Thou  tiny  image  of  myself ! 
(My  love,  he  's  poking  peas  into  his  ear) — 
Thou  merry,  laughing  sprite  ! 
With  spirits  feather  light, 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  ^57 

Untouched  by  sorrow,  and  unsoiled  by  sin  — 
(Good  heavens  !  the  child  is  swallowing  a  pin  !) 

2  Thou  little  tricksy  Puck  ! 
With  antic  toys  so  funnily  bestuck, 

Light  as  the  singing  bird  that  wings  the  air, 

(The  door  !  the  door  !  he  '11  tumble  down  the  stair  !) 

Thou  darling  of  thy  sire  ! 
(Why,  Jane,  he  '11  set  his  pinafore  afire  !) 

Thou  imp  of  mirth  and  joy  ! 
In  love's  dear  chain  so  strong  and  bright  "a  link, 
Thou  idol  of  thy  parents  —  (stop  the  boy  ! 

There  goes  my  ink  !) 

3  Thou  cherub  —  but  of  earth  ! 

Fit  playfellow  for  fays  by  moonlight  pale, 

In  harmless  sport  and  mirth, 
(The  dog  will  bite  him  if  he  pulls  his  tail !) 

Thou  human  humming-bee,  extracting  honey 
From  every  blossom  in  the  world  that  blows 

Singing  in  youth's  Elysium  ever  sunny, 
(Another  tumble  —  that 's  his  precious  nose  !) 

Thy  father's  pride  and  hope  ! 
(He  '11  break  the  mirror  with  that  skipping-rope  !) 
With  pure  heart  newly  stamped  from  nature's  mint, 

(Where  did  he  learn  that  squint  ?) 

4  Thou  young  domestic  love  ! 

(He  '11  have  that  jug  ofi"  with  another  shove  !) 

Dear  nursling  of  the  hymeneal  nest ! 

(Are  those  torn  clothes  his  best  ?) 

Little  epitome  of  man  ! 
(He  '11  climb  upon  the  table  —  that 's  his  plan  !) 
Touched  with  the  beauteous  tints  of  dawning  life, 

(He  's  got  a  knife  !) 

Thou  enviable  beinsi; ! 


358  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

No  storms,  no  clouds,  in  thy  blue  sky  foreseeing, 

Play  on,  play  on. 

My  elfin  John ! 
Toss  the  light  ball  —  bestride  the  stick, 
(I  knew  so  many  cakes  would  make  him  sick !) 
"With  fancies  buoyant  as  the  thistle-down. 
Prompting  the  face  grotesque,  and  antic  brisk, 

With  many  a  lamb-like  frisk, 
(He  's  got  the  scissors,  snipping  at  your  gown  I) 

5  Thou  pretty  opening  rose  ! 

(Go  to  your  mother,  child,  and  wipe  your  nose !) 
Balmy,  and  breathing  music  like  the  south, 
(He  really  brings  my  heart  into  my  mouth !) 
Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  brilliant  as  its  star, 
(I  wish  that  window  had  an  iron  bar !) 
Bold  as  the  hawk,  yet  gentle  as  the  dove  — 

(I  tell  you  what,  my  love, 
I  cannot  write,  unless  he  's  sent  above  !) 


CXXIV.  — THE  PIEST  PKEDICTED  ECLIPSE. 

Mitchell. 
To  those  who  have  given  but  little  attention  to  the  sub- 
ject, even  in  our  own  day,  with  all  the  aids  of  modem 
science,  the  prediction  of  an  eclipse  seems  sufficiently 
mysterious  and  unintelligible.  How,  then,  it  was  possi- 
5  ble,  thousands  of  years  ago,  to  accomplish  the  same  great 
object,  without  any  just  views  of  the  structure  of  the  sys- 
tem, seems  utterly  incredible. 

Follow,  in  imagination,  this  bold  interrogator  of  the 

skies  to  his  solitary  mountain  summit ;  —  withdrawn  from 

10  the  world,  surrounded  by  his  mysterious  circles,  there  to 

watch  and  ponder  through  the  long  nights  of  many,  many 


HILLARD'S   SIXTH  KEADER.  359 

years.  But  hope  cheers  him  on,  and  smooths  his  rugged 
pathway.  Dark  and  deep  as  is  the  problem,  he  sternly 
grapples  with  it,  and  resolves  never  to  give  over  till  vic- 
tory crowns  his  efforts. 
5  Long  and  patiently  did  the  astronomer  watch  and  wait. 
Each  eclipse  is  duly  observed,  and  its  attendant  circum- 
stances are  recorded,  when,  at  last,  the  darkness  begins  to 
give  way,  and  a  ray  of  light  breaks  in  upon  his  mind.  He 
finds  that  no  eclipse  of  the  sun  ever  occurs  unless  the  new 

10  moon  is  in  the  act  of  crossing  the  sun's  track.  Here  is 
a  grand  discovery.  He  now  holds  the  key  whicn  will  un- 
lock the  dread  mystery. 

Eeaching  forward  with  piercing  intellectual  vigor,  he 
at  last  finds  a  new  moon  which  occurs  precisely  at  the 

15  computed  time  of  her  passage  across  the  sun's  track.  Here 
he  makes  his  stand,  and  announces  to  the  startled  inhab- 
itants of  the  world  that  on  the  day  of  the  occurrence  of 
that  new  moon  the  sun  shall  expire  in  dark  eclipse. 

Bold  prediction  !  —  mysterious    prophet !  —  with  what 

20  scorn  must  the  unthinking  world  have  received  this  sol- 
emn declaration !  How  slowly  do  the  moons  roll  away, 
and  with  what  intense  anxiety  does  the  stern  philosopher 
await  the  coming  of  that  day  which  should  crown  him 
with  victory,  or  dash  him  to  the  ground  in  ruin  and  dis- 

25  grace !  Time  to  him  moves  on  leaden  wings ;  day  after 
day,  and  at  last  hour  after  hour,  roll  heavily  away.  The 
last  night  is  gone,  —  the  moon  has  disappeared  from  his 
eagle  gaze  in  her  approach  to  the  sun,  and  the  dawn  of  the 
eventful  day  breaks  in  beauty  on  a  slumbering  world. 

30  This  daring  man,  stern  in  his  faith,  climbs  alone  to  his 
rocky  home,  and  greets  the  sun  as  he  rises  and  mounts  the 
heavens,  scattering  brightness  and  glory  in  his  path.  Be- 
neath him  is  spread  out  the  populous  city,  already  teeming 
with  life  and  activity.     The  busy  morning  hum  rises  on 

35  the  still  air,  and  reaches  the  watching  place  of  the  solitary 
astronomer.     The  thousands  below  him,  unconscious  of  his 


360  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

intense  anxiety,  buoyant  with  life,  joyously  pursue  their 
rounds  of  business,  their  cycles  of  amusement.  The  sun 
Blowly  climbs  the  heavens,  round,  and  bright,  and  full- 
orbed.  The  lone  tenant  of  the  mountain-top  almost  begins 
5  to  waver  in  the  sternness  of  his  faith,  as  the  morning  hours 
roll  away. 

But  the  time  of  his  triumph,  long  delayed,  at  length  be- 
gins to  dawn ;  a  pale  and  sickly  hue  creeps  over  the  face 
of  nature.    The  sun  has  reached  his  highest  point,  but  his 

10  splendor  is  dimmed,  his  light  is  feeble.  At  last  it  comes ! 
Blackness  is  eating  away  his  round  disc,  —  onward  with 
slow  but  steady  pace  the  dark  veil  moves,  blacker  than  a 
thousand  nights,  —  the  gloom  deepens,  —  the  ghastly  hue 
of  death  covers  the  universe,  —  the  last  ray  is  gone,  and 

15  horror  reigns.  A  wail  of  terror  fills  the  murky  air,  —  the 
clangor  of  brazen  trumpets  resounds,  —  an  agony  of  de- 
spair dashes  the  stricken  millions  to  the  ground,  while 
that  lone  man,  erect  on  his  rocky  summit,  with  arms  out- 
stretched to  heaven,  pours  forth  the  grateful  gushings  of 

20  his  heart  to  God,  who  had  crowned  his  efforts  with  tri- 
umphant victory. 

Search  the  records  of  our  race,  and  point  me,  if  you  can, 
to  a  scene  more  grand,  more  beautiful.  It  is  to  me  the 
proudest  victory  that  genius  ever  won.     It  was  the  con- 

26  quering  of  nature,  of  ignorance,  of  superstition,  of  terror, 
all  at  a  single  blow,  and  that  blow  struck  by  a  single  arm. 
And  now  do  you  demand  the  name  of  this  wonderful  man  ? 
Alas  !  what  a  lesson  of  the  instability  of  earthly  fame  are 
we  taught  in  this  simple  recital !    He  who  had  raised  him- 

30  self  immeasurably  above  his  race,  —  who  must  have  been 
regarded  by  his  fellows  as  little  less  than  a  god,  who  had 
inscribed  his  fame  on  the  very  heavens,  and  written  it  in 
the  sun,  with  a  "  pen  of  iron,  and  the  point  of  a  diamond," 
even  this  one  had  perished  from  the  earth,  —  name,  age, 

35  country,  are  all  swept  into  oblivion;  but  his  proud  achieve- 
ment stands.     The  monument  reared  to  his  honor  stands, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  361 

and  althougli  the  touch  of  time  has  effaced  the  lettering  of 
his  name,  it  is  powerless,  and  cannot  destroy  the  fruits  of 
his  victory. 


CXXV.  —  CHARACTER   OF   COLUMBUS. 
Irving. 
The  poetical  temperament  of  Columbus  is  discernible 
throughout  all  his  writings,  and  in  all  his  actions.     It 
spread  a  golden  and  glorious  world  around  him,  and  tinged 
everything  with  its  own  gorgeous  colors.     It  betrayed  him 
5  into  visionary  speculations,  which  subjected  him  to  the 
sneers  and  cavillings  of  men  of  cooler  and  safer  but  more 
grovelling  minds. 

Such  were  the  conjectures  formed  on  the  coast  of  Paria, 
about  the  form  of  the  earth,  and  the  situation  of  the  ter- 
10  restrial  paradise ;  about  the  mines  of  Ophir,  in  Hispaniola, 
and  of  the  A  urea  Chersonesus,  in  Veragua  ;  and  such  was 
the  heroic  scheme  of  the  crusade  for  the  recovery  of  the 
holy  sepulchre.     It  mingled  with  his  religion,  and  filled 
his  mind  with  solemn  and  visionary  meditations  on  mystic 
passages  of  the  scriptures,  and  the  shadowy  portents  of  the 
prophecies.     It  exalted  his  office  in  his  eyes,  and  made 
him  conceive  himself  an  agent  sent  forth  upon  a  sublime 
5  and  awful  mission,  subject  to  impulses  and  supernatural 
visions  from  the  Deity;  such  as  the  voice  he  imagined 
spoke  to  him  in  comfort,  amidst  the  troubles  of  Hispaniola, 
and  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  on  the  disastrous  coast  of 
Veragua. 
10       He  was  decidedly  a  visionary,  but  a  visionary  of  an  un- 
common and  successful  kind.     The  manner  in  which  his 
ardent  imagination  and  mercurial  nature  were  controlled 
by  a  powerful  j  udgment,  and  directed  by  an  acute  sagacity, 
is  the  most  extraordinary  feature  in  his  character.     Thus 
15  governed,  his  imagination,  instead  of  wasting  itself  in  idle 
31 


362 

soarings,  lent~wings  to  his  judgment,  and  hore  it  away  to 
conclusions  at  which  common  minds  could  never  have  ar- 
rived ;  nay,  which  they  could  not  perceive  when  pointed  out. 
To  his  intellectual  vision  it  was  given,  to  read  in  the 

20  signs  of  the  times,  and  in  the  reveries  of  past  ages,  the  in- 
dications of  an  unknown  world,  as  soothsayers  were  said  to 
read  predictions  in  the  stars,  and  to  foretell  events  from 
the  visions  of  the  night.  "  His  soul,"  observes  a  Spanish 
writer,  "  was  superior  to  the  age  in  which  he  lived.     For 

25  him  was  reserved  the  great  enterprise  to  plough  a  sea 
which  had  given  rise  to  so  many  fables,  and  to  decipher 
the  mystery  of  his  time." 

With  all  the  visionary  fervor  of  his  imagination,  its 
fondest  dreams  fell  short  of  the  reality.      He  died  in 

30  ignorance  of  the  real  grandeur  of  his  discovery.  Until 
his  last  breath,  he  entertained  the  idea  that  he  had 
merely  opened  a  new  way  to  the  old  resorts  of  opulent 
commerce,  and  had  discovered  some  of  the  wild  regions  of 
the  East.    He  supposed  Hispaniola  to  be  the  ancient  Ophir, 

85  which  had  been  visited  by  the  ships  of  Solomon,  and  that 
Cuba  and  Terra  Firma  were  but  remote  parts  of  Asia. 

What  visions  of  glory  would  have  broken  upon  his  mind, 
could  he  have  known  that  he  had  indeed  discovered  a  new 
continent,  equal  to  the  whole  of  the  old  world  in  magni- 
tude, and  separated  by  two  vast  oceans  from  all  the  earth 

■  5  hitherto  known  by  civilized  man  !  and  how  would  his  mag- 
nanimous spirit  have  been  consoled,  amidst  the  chills  of 
age,  and  the  cares  of  penury,  the  neglect  of  a  fickle  public, 
and  the  injustice  of  an  ungrateful  king,  could  he  have  an- 
ticipated the  splendid  empires  which  were  to  spread  over 

10  the  beautiful  world  he  had  discovered,  and  the  nations  and 
tongues  and  languages  which  were  to  fill  its  lands  with  his 
renown,  and  to  revere  and  bless  his  name  to  the  latest 
posterity ! 


HILLAED^S   SIXTH  READER.  363 


CXXYL  — APOSTEOPHE  TO  THE  OCEAN. 

Byron. 

L     There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 
There  is  society,  where  none  intrudes. 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar. 
I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  Nature  more, ' 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 
To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

2     Poll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain, 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  —  his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore ;  —  upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own. 

When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

J     The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals ; 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war,  — 

These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 

They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 

Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar, 

I     Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee  — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Kome,  Carthage,  —  what  are  they  ? 


364  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

THy  waters  wasted  them  while  they  were  free, 
And  many  a  tyrant  since  ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage ;  their  decay 

Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts :  —  not  so  thou. 
Unchangeable,  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play  — 

Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow  — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

5  Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 

Glasses  itself  in  tempests  ;  in  all  time. 
Calm  or  convulsed  —  in  breeze  or  gale  or  storm, 

Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 

Dark  heaving ;  —  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime  • 
The  image  of  Eternity  —  the  throne 

Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made  ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee  :   thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

6  And  I  have  loved  thee,  Ocean  !  and  my  joy 

Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward :  from  a  boy 

I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers  —  they  to  me 

Were  a  delight ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror,  —  't  was  a  pleasing  fear ; 

For  I  was,  as  it  were,  a  child  of  thee, 
And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near. 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane  —  as  I  do  here. 


CXXVII.  — SUMMEE. 

Mitchell. 


[DoxALD  G.  Mitchell  is  an  American  author,  a  graduate  of  Yale  College, 
of  the  class  of  1841,  who,  under  the  assumed  name  of  "  Ike  Marvel,"  has  writ- 
ten "  The  Battle  Summer  in  Europe,"  "  Ileveries  of  a  Bachelor,"  and  "  Dream 
Life."  His  prose  is  graphic  and  musical ;  poetical  in  spirit,  and  characterized 
by  purity,  as  well  as  tenderness,  of  feeling'.  Tliis  extract  is  from  "  Dream 
Life."] 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  365 

I  THANK  heaven  every  summer's  day  of  my  life  that  my 
lot  was  humbly  cast  within  the  hearing  of  romping  brooks, 
and  beneath  the  shadow  of  oaks.  And  from  all  the  tramp 
and  bustle  of  the  world,  into  which  fortune  has  led  me  in 
5  these  latter  years  of  my  life,  I  delight  to  steal  away  for  days 
and  for  weeks  together,  and  bathe  my  spirit  in  the  free- 
dom of  the  old  woods,  and  to  grow  young  again  lying  upon 
the  brook-side,  and  counting  the  white  clouds  that  sail 
along  the  sky,  softly  and  tranquilly  —  even  as  holy  memo- 

10  lies  go  stealing  over  the  vault  of  life. 

Two  days  since  I  was  sweltering  in  the  heat  of  the  city, 
jostled  by  the  thousand  eager  workers,  and  panting  under 
the  shadow  of  the  walls.  But  I  have  stolen  away ;  and, 
for  two  hours  of  healthful  regrowth  into  the  darling  past, 

15  I  have  been  lying,  this  blessed  summer's  morning,  upon 
the  grassy  bank  of  a  stream  that  babbled  me  to  sleep 
in  boyhood.  Dear  old  stream,  unchanging,  unfaltering, 
—  with  no  harsher  notes  now  than  then,  —  never  grow- 
ing old,  smiling  in  your  silver  rustle,  and  calming  your- 

20  self  in  the  broad,  placid  pools ;  I  love  you  as  I  love  a 
friend. 

But  now  that  the  sun  has  grown  scalding  hot,  and  the 
waves  of  heat  have  come  rocking  under  the  shadow  of  the 
meadow  oaks,  I  have  sought  shelter  in  a  chamber  of  the 

25  old  farm-house.  The  window-blinds  are  closed ;  but  some 
of  them  are  sadly  shattered,  and  I  have  intertwined  in 
them  a  few  branches  of  the  late  blossoming  white  azalia,, 
so  that  every  pufF  of  the  summer  air  comes  to  me  cooled 
with  fragrance.     A  dimple  or  two  of  the  sunlight  still 

30  steals  through  my  flowery  screen,  and  dances,  as  the 
breeze  moves  the  branches,  upon  the  oaken  floor  of  the 
farm-house. 

Through  one  little  gap,  indeed,  I  can  see  the  broad 
stretch  of  meadow,  and  the  workmen  in  the  field  bending 

35  and  swaying  to  their  scythes.     I  can  see,  too,  the  glisten- 
ing of  the  steel,  as  they  wipe  their  blades ;  and  can  just 
31*     _ 


366  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

catch,  floating  on  the  air,  the  measured,  tinkling  thwack 
of  the  rifle  stroke. 

Here  and  there  a  lark,  scared  from  his  feeding-place  in 
the  grass,  soars  up,  bubbling  forth  his  melody  in  globules 
5  of  silvery  sound,  and  settles  upon  some  tall  tree,  and 
waves  his  wings,  and  sinks  to  the  swaying  twigs.  I  hear, 
too,  a  quail  piping  from  the  meadow  fence,  and  another 
trilling  his  answering  whistle  from  the  hills.  Nearer  by, 
a  tyrant  king-bird  is  poised  on  the  topmost  branch  of  a 

10  veteran  pear-tree ;  and  now  and  then  dashes  down,  assas- 
sin-like, upon  some  home-bound,  honey-laden  bee,  and 
then,  with  a  smack  of  his  bill,  resumes  his  predatory 
watch. 

As  I  sit  thus,  watching  through  the  interstices  of  my 

[  15  leafy  screen  the  various  images  of  country  life,  I  hear  dis- 
(     tant  mutterings  from  beyond  the  hills. 

The  sun  has  thrown  its  shadow  upon  the  pewter  dial, 
two  hours  beyond  the  meridian  line.  Great  cream-colored 
heads  of  thunder-clouds  are  lifting  above  the  sharp,  clear 

20  line  of  the  western  horizon ;  the  light  breeze  dies  away, 
and  the  air  becomes  stifling,  even  under  the  shadow  of  my 
withered  boughs  in  the  chamber  window.  The  white- 
capped  clouds  roll  up  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  sun,  and  the 
creamy  masses  below  grow  dark  in  their  seams.    The  mut- 

25  terings,  that  came  faintly  before,  now  spread  into  wide  vol- 
umes of  rolling  sound,  that  echo  again  and  again  from  the 
eastward  heights. 

I  hear  in  the  deep  intervals  the  men  shouting  to  their 
teams  in  the  meadows ;  and  great  companies  of  startled 

30  swallows  are  dashing  in  all  directions  around  the  gray 
roofs  of  the  bam. 

The  clouds  have  now  well-nigh  reached  the  sun,  which 
seems  to  shine  the  fiercer  for  his  coming  eclipse.  The  whole 
west,  as  I  look  from  the  sources  of  the  brook  to  its  lazy 

35  drifts  under  the  swamps  that  lie  to  the  south,  is  hung  with 
a  curtain  of  darkness  ;  and,  like  swift- working  golden  ropes 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  367 

that  lift  it  towards  the  zenith,  long  chains  of  lightning 
flash  through  it,  and  the  growling  thunder  seems  like  the 
rumble  of  the  pulleys. 

I  thrust  away  my  azalia  boughs,  and  fling  back  the 
5  shattered  blinds,  as  the  sun  and  the  clouds  meet ;  and  my 
room  darkens  with  the  coming  shadows.  For  an  instant 
the  edges  of  the  thick,  creamy  masses  of  cloud  are  gilded 
by  the  shrouded  sun,  and  show  gorgeous  scallops  of  gold 
that  toss  upon  the  hem  of  the  storm.  But  the  blazonry 
10  fades  as  the  clouds  mount,  and  the  brightening  lines  of 
the  lightning  dart  up  from  the  lower  skirts,  and  heave  the 
billowy  masses  into  the  middle  heaven. 

The  workmen    are  urging  their  oxen  fast  across  the 
meadow ;    and  the  loiterers  come    straggling  after,  with 
15  rakes  upon  their  shoulders. 

The  air  freshens,  and  blows  now  from  the  face  of  the 

coming  clouds.     I  see  the  great  elms  in  the  plain,  swaying 

their  tops,  even  before  the  storm-breeze  has  reached  me ; 

and  a  bit  of  ripened  grain,  upon  a  swell  of  the  meadow. 

20  waves  and  tosses  like  a  billowy  sea. 

Presently  I  hear  the  rush  of  the  wind,  and  the  cherry 
and  pear  trees  rustle  through  all  their  leaves,  and  my 
paper  is  whisked  away  by  the  intruding  blast. 

There  is  a  quiet  of  a  moment,  in  which  the  wind,  even, 
25  seems  weary  and  faint ;  and  nothing  finds  utterance  save 
one  hoarse  tree-toad,  doling  out  his  lugubrious  notes. 

Now  comes  a  blinding  flash  from  the  clouds ;  and  a 
quick,  sharp  clang  clatters  through  the  heavens,  and  bel- 
lows loud  and  long  among  the  hills.  Then  —  like  great 
30  grief  spending  its  pent  agony  in  tears  —  come  the  big 
drops  of  rain,  pattering  on  the  lawn,  and  on  the  leaves, 
and  most  musically  of  all  upon  the  roof  above  me ;  not 
now  with  the  light  fall  of  the  spring  shower,  but  with 
strong  stoppings,  like  the  first,  proud  tread  of  youth. 


368  hillard's  sixth  header. 

CXXVIIL  — EXTKACT   FROM   EIENZI. 

Miss  Mitfobd. 

[Mary  Russell  Mitford  was  born  at  Alresford,  iu  England,  December 
16,  1786,  and  died  January  10,  1855.  She  published  a  number  of  works,  com- 
prising poems,  sketches,  and  dramas,  of  which  the  best  and  most  popular  is 
*'  Our  Village,"  a  collection  of  pictures  of  rural  life  and  manners,  written  in  a 
graceful  and  animated  style,  and  pervaded  with  a  most  kindly  and  sympa- 
thetic spirit.  She  was  very  friendly  to  our  country,  and  edited  three  volumes 
of  "  Stories  of  American  Life  by  American  Authors." 

The  followmg  extract  is  from  "  Rienzi."  the  most  successful  of  her  dramas, 
founded  on  the  fate  and  fortunes  of  a  celebrated  personage  of  that  name,  who 
in  the  I'ourteenth  century  was  for  a  brief  period  the  ruler  of  Rome.  This  speech 
is  made  by  Rienzi  to  a  Roman  noble  who  was  petitioning  for  the  life  of  a 
brother  who  had  been  condemned  to  death.  A  brother  of  Rienzi's  had  been 
killed  by  a  servant  of  this  same  noble.] 

And  darest  talk  thou  to  me  of  brothers  ?    Thou, 
Whose  groom  —  wouldst  have  me  break  my  own  just  laws, 
To  save  thy  brother  ?  thine  !     Hast  thou  forgotten 
When  that  most  beautiful  and  blameless  boy,  n^ 

5  The  prettiest  piece  of  innocence  that  ever  \     ^ 

Breathed  in  this  sinful  world,  lay  at  thy  feet,  {^    «- 

Slain  by  thy  pampered  minion,  and  I  knelt 
Before  thee  for  redress,  whilst  thou  —  didst  never 
Hear  talk  of  retribution  !     This  is  justice, 

10  Pure  justice,  not  revenge!     Mark  well,  my  lords — 
Pure,  equal  justice.     Martin  Orsini 
Had  open  trial,  is  guilty,  is  condemned. 
And  he  shall  die  !     Lords, 
If  ye  could  range  before  me  all  the  peers, 

15  Prelates,  and  potentates  of  Christendom  — 
The  holy  pontiff  kneeling  at  my  knee. 
And  emperors  crouching  at  my  feet,  to  sue 
For  this  great  robber,  still  I  should  be  blind 
As  justice.     But  this  very  day,  a  wife, 

20  One  infant  folded  in  her  arms,  and  two 
Clinging  to  the  poor  rags  that  scarcely  hid 
Her  squalid  form,  grasped  at  my  bridle-rein 
To  beg  her  husband's  life  —  condemned  to  die 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  369 

For  some  vile  petty  theft,  some  paltry  scudi  — ^'-^ 
And,  whilst  the  fiery  war-horse  chafed  and  reared, 
Shaking  his  crest,  and  plunging  to  get  free, 
There,  midst  the  dangerous  coil  unmoved,  she  stood, 
5  Pleading  in  broken  words  and  piercing  shrieks, 
And  hoarse,  low,  shivering  sobs,  the  very  cry 
Of  nature !    And,  when  I  at  last  said  no,  — 
For  I  said  no  to  her,  —  she  flung  herself 
And  those  poor  innocent  babes  between  the  stones 
10  And  my  hot  Arab's  hoofs.    We  saved  them  all  — 
Thank  heaven,  we  saved  them  all !  but  I  said  no 
To  that  sad  woman,  midst  her  shrieks.    Ye  dare  not 
Ask  me  for  mercy  now. 


CXXIX.  — THE  PASSIONS. 

Collins. 

[William  Collins  was  bom  in  Chichester,  England,  December  25, 1720, 
and  died  June  12,  1759.  He  was  a  ,man  of  sensitive  nature  and  melancholy 
temperament.  His  last  years  were  clouded  with  disease  and  insanity.  His 
poetical  genius  was  of  a  high  order,  and  many  of  his  smaller  poems  are  dis- 
tinguished by  imaginative  splendor,  an  etherial  tone  of  sentiment,  and  subtle 
beauty  of  language.  His  "  Ode  to  the  Passions  "  is  a  very  popular  poem,  and 
deservedly  so,  for  nothing  can  surpass  its  picturesque  energy,  brilliant 
descriptions,  and  vivid  coloring.] 

1     When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young. 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell. 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell, 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
Possessed  beyond  the  Muse's  painting ; 
By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined : 
Till  once,  't  is  said,  when  all  were  fired, 
Pilled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired. 
Prom  the  supporting  myrtles  round, 


370  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound; 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 
Each — for  madness  ruled  the  hour  — 
"Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

2  First,  Fear  his  hand?  its  skill  to  try, 

Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid : 
And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why, 
E*en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

3  Next,  Anger  rushed,   his  eyes  on  fire. 

In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings ; 
In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

4  With  woful  measures,  wan  Despair — 

Low,  sullen  sounds  I  —  his  grief  beguiled, 
A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air ; 
'T  was  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  't  was  wild. 

5  But  thou,  0  Hope !  with  eyes  so  fair, 

What  was  thy  delighted  measure? 

Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail  I 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong  ; 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 
She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  the  song: 

And  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 

A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close ; 
And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair. 

6  And  longer  had  she  sung  —  but,  with  a  frown, 

Eevenge  impatient  rose : 
He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in  thunder  down ; 
And,  with  a  withering  look. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  371 

The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took, 
And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread, 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe  ; 

And,  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat : 
And  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between, 

Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side, 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied. 
Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild,  unaltered  mien, 
"While  each  strained  ball  <y£  sight  seemed  bursting  from  his 
head. 

7  Thy  numbers.  Jealousy,  to  naught  were  fixed ; 

Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state  ! 
Of  diflfering  themes  the  veering  song  was  mixed ; 

And,  now  it  courted  Love  ;  now,  raving,  called  on  Hate. 

8  With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired. 
Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired ; 

And,  from  her  wild,  sequestered  seat, 

In  notes,  by  distance  made  more  sweet. 
Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul : 

And,  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 

Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound: 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole, 
Or  o'er  some  haunted  streams  with  fond  delay 

(Bound  a  holy  calm  diffusing, 

Love  of  peace,  and  lonely  musing,) 
In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

9  But,  0  !  how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone, 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue, 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung, 
Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspiring  air,  that  dale  and  thicket  rung !  — 
The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known  ! 


372  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

The  oak-crowned  Sisters,  and  their  chaste-eyed  Queen, 

Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys,  were  seen, 

Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green  ; 

Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear, 

And  Sport  leaped  up,  and  seized  his  beechen  spear. 

10    Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial :  — 
'  He,  with  viny  crown  advancing, 

First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addressed : 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol, 
"Whose  sweet,  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best. 
They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  the  strain. 
They  saw  in  Tempe's  vale  her  native  maids. 

Amid  the  festal-sounding  shades, 
To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing : 
"While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings, 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round : 
(Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  by  zone  unbound) , 

And  he,  amid  his  frolic  play, 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay. 
Shook  thousand  odors  from  his  dewy  wings. 


CXXX.  — THE  CHUKCH-YAED. 

Karamsin. 
EiRST  Voice. 
1  How  frightful  the  grave !  how  deserted  and  drear ! 
"With  the  howls  of  the  storm- wind  —  the  creaks  of  the  bier, 
And  the  white  bones  all  clattering  together ! 


hillakd's  sixth  reader.  373 


Second  Voice. 


2  How  peaceful  the  grave  !  its  quiet  how  deep : 
Its  zephyrs  breathe  calmly,  and  soft  is  its  sleep, 

And  flowerets  perfume  it  with  ether. 

First  Voice. 

3  There  riots  the  blood-crested  worm  on  the  dead, 
And  the  yellow  skull  serves  the  foul  toad  for  a  hed. 

And  snakes  in  its  nettle  weeds  hiss. 

Second  Voice. 

4  How  lovely,  how  sweet  the  repose  of  the  tomb : 

No  tempests  are  there :  —  but  the  nightingales  come, 
And  sing  their  sweet  chorus  of  bliss. 

First  Voice. 

5  The  ravens  of  night  flap  their  wings  o'er  the  grave : 
'T  is  the  vulture's  abode ;  't  is  the  wolf's  dreary  cave, 

"Where  they  tear  up  the  earth  with  their  fangs. 

Second  Voice. 

6  There  the  cony  at  evening  disports  with  his  love, 
Or  rests  on  the  sod ;  while  the  turtles  above, 

Kepose  on  the  bough  that  o'erhangs. 

First  Voice. 

7  There  darkness  and  dampness  with  poisonous  breath, 
And  loathsome  decay  fill  the  dwelling  of  death ; 

The  trees  are  all  barren  and  bare ! 

Second  Voice, 

8  0,  soft  are  the  breezes  that  play  round  the  tomb. 
And  sweet  with  the  violet's  wafted  perfume, 

With  lilies  and  jessamine  fair. 
32 


374  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

First  Voice. 

9  The  pilgrim  who  reaches  this  valley  of  tears, 

Would  fain  hurry  by,  and  with  trembling  and  fears, 
He  is  launched  on  the  wreck-covered  river ! 

Second  Voice. 

10  The  traveller,  outworn  with  life's  pilgrimage  dreary, 
Lays  down  his  rude  staflF,  like  one  that  is  weary, 
And  sweetly  reposes  forever. 


CXXXL  — TACT  AND   TALENT. 

London  Atlas. 

Talent  is  something,  but  tact  is  everything.  Talent  is 
serious,  sober,  grave,  and  respectable :  tact  is  all  that,  and 
more  too.  It  is  not  a  sixth  sense,  but  it  is  the  life  of  all 
the  five.  It  is  the  open  eye,  the  quick  ear,  the  judging 
5  taste,  the  keen  smell,  and  the  lively  touch  ;  it  is  the  inter- 
preter of  all  riddles,  the  surmounter  of  all  difficulties,  the 
remover  of  all  obstacles.  It  is  useful  in  all  places,  and  at 
all  times  ;  it  is  useful  in  solitude,  for  it  shows  a  man  his 
way  into  the  world ;  it  is  useful  in  society,  for  it  shows 

10  him  his  way  through  the  world. 

Talent  is  power,  tact  is  skill ;  talent  is  weight,  tact  is 
momentum  ;  talent  knows  what  to  do,  tact  knows  how  to 
do  it ;  talent  makes  a  man  respectable,  tact  will  make  him 
respected ;  talent  is  wealth,  tact  is  ready  money. 

15  For  all  the  practical  purposes  of  life,  tact  carries  it 
against  talent;  ten  to  one.  Take  them  to  the  theatre,  and 
put  them  against  each  other  on  the  stage,  and  talent  shall 
produce  you  a  tragedy  that  will  scarcely  live  long  enough 
to  be  condemned,  while  tact  keeps  the  house  in  a  roar, 
night  after  night,  with  its  successful  farces.     There  is  no 


hillard's  sixth  reader,  375 

want  of  dramatic  talent,  there  is  no  want  of  dramatic  tact; 
but  they  are  seldom  together :  so  we  have  successful  pieces 
which  are  not  respectable,  and  respectable  pieces  which  are 
not  successful. 
6  Take  them  to  the  bar,  and  let  them  shake  their  learned 
curls  at  each  other  in  legal  rivalry.  Talent  sees  its  way 
clearly,  but  tact  is  first  at  its  journey's  end.  Talent  has 
many  a  compliment  from  the  bench,  but  tact  touches  fees 
from  attorneys  and  clients.     Talent  speaks  learnedly  and 

10  logically,  tact  triumphantly.  Talent  makes  the  world 
wonder  that  it  gets  on  no  faster,  tact  excites  astonishment 
that  it  gets  on  so  fast.  And  the  secret  is,  that  tact  has  no 
weight  to  carry  ;  it  makes  no  false  steps ;  it  hits  the  right 
nail  on  the  head ;  it  loses  no  time ;  it  takes  all  hints ;  and, 

15  by  keeping  its  eye  on  the  weathercock,  is  ready  to  take 
advantage  of  every  wind  that  blows. 

Take  them  into  the  church.  Talent  has  always  some- 
thing worth  hearing,  tact  is  sure  of  abundance  of  hearers  ; 
talent  may  obtain  a  living,  tact  will  make  one  ;  talent  gets 

20  a  good  name,  tact  a  great  one  ;  talent  convinces,  tact  con- 
verts ;  talent  is  an  honor  to  the  profession,  tact  gains  honor 
from  the  profession. 

Take  them  to  court.  Talent  feels  its  weight,  tact  finds 
its  way ;  talent  commands,  tact  is  obeyed  ;  talent  is  hon- 

25  ored  with  approbation,  and  tact  is  blessed  by  preferment. 

Place  them  in  the  senate.  Talent  has  the  ear  of  the  house, 

but  tact  wins  its  heart,  and  has  its  votes  ;  talent  is  fit  for 

employment,  but  tact  is  fitted  for  it.     Tact  has  a  knack 

of  slipping  into  place  with  a  sweet  silence  and  glibness  of 

30  movement,  as  a  billiard  ball  insinuates  itself  into  the 
pocket.  It  seems  to  know  everything,  without  learning 
anything.  It  has  served  an  invisible  and  extemporary  ap- 
prenticeship ;  it  wants  no  drilling  ;  it  never  ranks  in  the 
awkward  squad  ;  it  has  no  left  hand,  no  deaf  ear,  no  blind 

35  side.  It  puts  on  no  looks  of  wondrous  wisdom,  it  has  no 
air  of  profundity,  but  plays  with  the  details  of  place  as 


376  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

dexterously  as  a  well-taught  hand  flourishes  over  the  keys 
of  the  piano-forte.  It  has  all  the  air  of  commonplace,  and 
all  the  force  and  power  of  genius. 


CXXXIV.— THE   rOEGING   OF   THE   ANCHOE. 

S.  Ferguson. 

[This  spirited  poem  appeared  originally  in  "  Blackwood's  Magazine."  Mr. 
Ferguson  resides  in  Dublin,  and  has  written  several  ballads  and  lyrical  poema 
of  considerable  merit. 

Come,  see  the  Dolphin's  anchor  forged ;  't  is  at  a  white  heat  now  ; 
The  bellows  ceased,  the  flames  decreased ;  though  on  the  forge's  brow 
The  little  flames  still  fitfully  play  through  the  sable  mound ; 
And  fitfully  you  still  may  see  the  grim  smiths  ranking  round, 
All  clac^in  leathern  panoply,  their  broad  hands  only  bare ; 
Some  rest  upon  their  sledges  here,  some  work  the  windlass  there. 

The  windlass  strains  the  tackle  chains,  the  black  mound  heaves  below, 
And  red  and  deep  a  hundred  veins  burst  out  at  every  throe ; 
It  rises,  roars,  rends  all  outright  —  O  Vulcan,  what  a  glow ! 
'T  is  blinding  white,  't  is  blasting  bright ;  the  high  sun  shines  not  so ; 
The  high  sun  sees  not,  on  the  ea-rth,  such  fiery,  fearful  show ; 
The  roof-ribs  swarth,  the  candent  hearth,  the  ruddy,  lurid  row 
Of  smiths,  that  stand,  an  ardent  band,  like  men  before  the  foe  ; 
As,  quivering  through  his  fleece  of  flame,  the  sailing  monster  slow 
Sinks  on  the  anvil  —  all  about  the  faces  fiery  grow  — 
"Hm-rah!"  they  shout,   "leap   out — leap  out!"  bang,  bang,  the 
sledges  go ; 

Hurrah !  the  jetted  lightnings  are  hissing  high  and  low; 

A  hailing  fount  of  fire  is  struck  at  every  squashing  blow ; 

The  leathern  mail  rebounds  the  hail ;  the  rattling  cinders  strow 

The  ground  around ;  at  every  bound  the  sweltering  fountains  flow : 

And  thick  and  loud  the  s  winking  crowd,  at  every  stroke,  pant  "  Ho  ! " 

Leap  out,  leap  out,  my  masters ;  leap  out  and  lay  on  load  !  * 
Let 's  forge  a  goodly  anchor,  a  bower,  thick  and  broad ; 
For  a  heart  of  oak  is  hanging  on  every  blow,  I  bode, 
And  I  see  the  good  ship  riding,  all  in  a  perilous  road; 
♦  Lay  on  load  —  strike  heavy  blows 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  •     377 

The  low  reef  roaring  on  her  lee,  the  roll  of  ocean  poured 
From  stem  to  stern,  sea  after  sea,  the  main-mast  by  the  board ; 
The  bulwarks  down,  the  rudder  gone,  the  boats  stove  at  the  chains ; 
But  courage  still,  brave  mariners,  the  bower  yet  remains, 
And  not  an  inch  to  flinch  he  deigns  save  when  ye  pitch  sky-high, 
Then  moves  his  head,  as  though  he  said,  "Fear  nothing — here  ami ! " 
Swing  in  your  strokes  in  order,  let  foot  and  hand  keep  time  ; 
Your  blows  make  music  sweeter  far  than  any  steeple's  chime ; 
But  while  ye  swing  your  sledges,  sing ;  and  let  the  burden  be, 
The  anchor  is  the  anvil  king,  and  royal  craftsmen  we ; 
Strike  in,  strike  in  ;  the  sparks  begin  to  dull  their  rustling  red ; 
Our  hammers  ring  with  sharper  din,  our  work  will  soon  be  sped ; 
Our  anchor  soon  must  change  his  bed  of  fiery  rich  array, 
For  a  hammock  at  the  roaring  bows,  or  an  oozy  couch  of  clay ; 
Our  anchor  soon  must  change  the  lay  of  merry  craftsmen  here, 
For  the  yeo-heave-o,  and  the  heave  away,  and  the  sighing  seaman's 

cheer. 
When  weighing  slow,  at  eve  they  go,  far,  far  from  love  and  home, 
And  sobbing  sweethearts,  in  a  row,  wail  o'er  the  ocean  foam. 

In  livid  and  obdurate  gloom,  he  darkens  down  at  last, 

A  shapely  one  he  is  and  strong,  as  e'er  from  cat  *  was  cast. 

A  trusted  and  trustworthy  guard,  if  thou  hadst  life  like  me, 

What  pleasures  would  thy  toils  reward  beneath  the  deep-green  sea ! 

0  deep-sea  diver,  who  might  then  behold  such  sights  as  thou  ? 

The  hoary  monster's  palaces  !  methinks  what  joy  'twere  now 

To  go  plump,  plunging  down  amid  the  assembly  of  the  whales, 

And  feel  the  churned  sea  round  me  boil  beneath  their  scourging  tails  I 

Then  deep  m  tangle  woods  to  fight  the  fierce  sea-unicorn. 

And  send  him  foiled  and  bellowing  back,  for  all  his  ivory  horn  ♦, 

To  leave  the  subtle  sworder-fish,  of  bony  blade  forlorn, 

And  for  the  ghastly  grinning  shark,  to  laugh  his  jaws  to  scorn ; 

To  leap  down  on  the  kraken's  back,  where  'mid  Norwegian  isles 

He  lies  a  lubber  anchorage,  for  sudden  shallowed  miles  ; 

Till  snorting,  like  an  under-sea  volcano,  off  he  rolls, 

Meanwhile  to  swing,  a  buffeting  the  far  astonished  shoals 

Of  his  back-browsing  ocean  calves  ;  or  haply  in  a  cove, 

Shell-strown,  and  consecrate  of  old  to  some  Undine's  love, 

To  find  the  long-haired  mermaidens  ;  or,  hard  by  icy  lands. 

To  wrestle  with  the  sea-serpent,  upon  cerulean  sands ! 

*  Cat  is  the  nautical  name  for  the  tackle  used  to  hoist  np  the  anchor  to  the 
cathead,  a  stout,  piece  of  timber  projecting  from  the  ship's  side. 
32* 


37S 


O  broad-armed  fisher  of  the  deep,  whose  sports  can  equal  thine  ? 
The  Dolphin  weighs  a  thousand  tons,  that  tugs  thy  cable  line  ; 
And  night  by  night 't  is  thy  delight,  thy  glory  day  by  day, 
Through  sable  sea  and  breaker  white,  the  giant  game  to  play ; 
But,  shamer  of  our  little  sports,  forgive  the  name  I  gave  ; 
A  fisher's  joy  is  to  destroy  — thine  office  is  to  save. 

O  lodger  in  the  sea-king's  halls,  couldst  thou  but  understand 
Whose  be  the  white  bones  by  thy  side,  or  who  that  dripping  band. 
Slow  swaying  in  the  heaving  wave,  that  round  about  thee  bend. 
With  sounds  like  breakers  in  a  dream,  blessing  their  ancient  friend; 
O,  couldst  thou  know  what  heroes  glide  with  larger  steps  round  thee, 
Tliine  iron  side  would  swell  with  pride,  thou  'dst  leap  within  the  sea ! 

Give  honor  to  their  memories,  who  left  the  pleasant  strand 
To  shed  their  blood  so  freely  for  the  love  of  Fatherland  — 
Who  left  their  chance  of  quiet  age  and  grassy  church-yard  grave 
So  freely  for  a  restless  bed  amid  the  tossing  wave  — 
O,  though  our  anchor  may  not  be  all  I  have  fondly  sung, 
Honor  him  for  their  memory,  whose  bones  he  goes  among ! 


CXXXIII.— .THE    KAVEN. 

POE. 

[Edgar  Allen  Poe  was  born  in  Baltimore,  in  January,  1811,  and  died 
October  7,  1849.  He  was  a  man  of  letters  by  profession,  editor  of  various 
periodical  publications,  and  a  constant  contributor  to  the  press.  His  life 
was  reckless  and  unhappy,  and  his  habits  dissipated  and  intemperate.  But 
his  genius  was  marked  and  original.  His  prose  tales  are  elaborated  with  great 
rhetorical  skill,  and  show  an  inventive  but  wild  and  morbid  fancy,  without 
human  sympathy  or  moral  feeling.  His  poetry  is  remarkable  for  the  subtle 
music  of  its  language,  and  the  careful  melody  of  its  verse ;  but  its  tone  is  not 
healthy,  and  its  themes  are  drawn  from  an  unreal  and  fantastic  region.  He 
was  a  man  of  extraordinary  intellectual  powers,  but  without  natural  affection, 
or  the  sense  of  duty;  and  these  defects  of  character  are  perceptible  in  his 
writings.] 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore  — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
*'  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tapping  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  B79' 

Ah  !  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow ;  —  vainly  I  had  tried  to  borrow, 
From  my  books,  surcease  of  sorrow  —  sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore  — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  named  Lenore  — 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 
Thrilled  me  —  filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before ; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating 
"  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door ;  — 
Tliis  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
**  Sir,"  said  I,  "or  madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore ; 
But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber  door, 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  "  —  here  I  opened  wide  the  door ;  — 
Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness   peering,  long  I  stood  there,  wondering, 

fearing. 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever  dared  to  dream  before ;  . 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  darkness  gave  no  token. 
And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word,  "  Lenore ! " 
This  /whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word,  "Lenore  !'* 
Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  I  heard  again  a  tapping  somewhat  louder  than  before ; 
"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window  lattice ; 
Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore  — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,  and  this  mystery  explore ;  — 
'T  is  the  wind,  and  nothing  more  !  " 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  Raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore : 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  an  instant  stopped  or  stayed  he ; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door  — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door  — 
Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 


K 


8S0  hillaed's  sixth  reader. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 

By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 

"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "  art  sure  no 

craven. 
Ghastly  grim  and  ancient  Raven,  wandering  from  the  nightly  shore ; 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore ! " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning  —  little  relevancy  bore; 
For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber  door  — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber  door, 
With  such  name  as  "Nevermore." 

But  the  Raven,  sitting  lonely  on  that  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Nothing  further  then  he  uttered ;  not  a  feather  then  he  fluttered  — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  "  Other  friends  have  flown  be- 
fore— 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  Hopes  have  flown  before." 
\    ^  Then  the  bird  said,  "Nevermore." 

^  "  Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 

"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master  whom  unmerciful  disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster,  till  his  song  one  burden  bore  — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  Hope  the  melancholy  burden  bore 
Of  '  Nevermore '  —  of  Nevermore.' " 

But  the  Raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling. 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird  and  bust  and 

door; 
Then  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore  — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 
Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore." 

Thus  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl, whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er. 
She  shall  press,  ah,  nevermore ! 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  381 

Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen 

censer, 
Swung  by  angels  whose  faint  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 
"Wretch,"  I  cried,  "thy  God  hath  lent  thee  —  by  these  angels  he 

hath  sent  thee 
Respite  —  respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore! 
Quaff,  0,  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe  and  forget  tliis  lost  Lenore ! " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

"  Prophet !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil !  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil !  — 
Whether  Tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted  — 
On  this  home  by  horror  haunted  —  tell  me  truly,  I  implore  — 
Is  there  —  is  there  balm  in  Gilead  —  tell  me  —  tell  me,  I  implore ! " 
Quoth  thflj^4ftaven,  "  Nevermore." 

" Prophet !  "  said  I,  "thing  of  evil !  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  Heaven  that  bends  above  us  —  by  that  God  we  both  adore  — 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden,  if,  within  the  distant  Aiden,* 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore." 
Quoth  the  Raven  "Nevermore." 

"Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend!  "  I  shrieked,  up- 
starting — 

"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore  ! 

Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken ! 

Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken !  —  quit  the  bust  above  my  door ! 

Take  thy  beak  fi-ora  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my 
door ! " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

And  the  Raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon  that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamp-light,  o'er  him  streaming,  throws  his  shadow  on  the 

floor; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow,  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor, 
Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore ! 

*  The  place  of  departed  spirits :  from  the  Greek  "  Hades  "  or  "  Haides." 


382  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

CXXXIV.  — SPEECH    OF    EINGAN    GILHAIZE. 
Galt. 

[John  Galt  was  bom  in  Irvine,  Scotland,  May  2, 1779,  and  died  April  11, 
1839.  He  was  a  voluminous  writer,  and  among  other  things,  author  of  a  series 
of  novels  illustrating  Scottish  life  and  manners,  of  which  the  first  in  order  of 
time,  "  The  Annals  of  the  Parish,"  became  immediately  and  widely  popular. 
They  are  unequal  in  style  and  structure,  but  none  are  without  marked  merit, 
He  was  for  some  time  iu  Canada,  and  in  one  of  the  best  of  his  novels, "  Lawrie 
Todd,"  the  scene  is  laid  in  this  country. 

The  following  extract  is  from  "  llingan  Gilhaize,"  a  novel  so  called  from  the 
name  of  one  of  the  principal  characters.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Scotland,  during 
the  time  of  the  religious  persecutions  under  Charles  II.  and  James  II.  The 
speech  is  by  Ringan  Gilhaize,  a  patriotic  and  religious  enthusiast,  in  reply  tc 
Mr.  Kenwick,  a  clergyman,  who  had  counselled  moderation.] 

Moderation  !  —  You,  Mr.  Renlllck,  counsel  moderatior 

—  you  recommend  the  door  of  peace  to  be  still  kept  oper 

—  you  doubt  if  the  Scriptures  warrant  us  to  undertake 
revenge,  and  you  hope  that  our  forbearance  may  work  tc 

5  repentance  among  our  enemies.  Mr.  Renwick,  you  have 
hitherto  been  a  preacher,  not  a  sufferer ;  with  you  the 
resistance  to  Charles  Stuart's  government  has  been  a  thin^ 
of  doctrine  —  of  no  more  than  doctrine,  Mr.  Eenwick  — 
with  us  it  has  been  a  consideration  of  facts.     Judge  ye 

10  therefore  between  yourself  and  us,  —  I  say,  between  your 
self  and  us;  for  I  ask  no  other  judge  to  decide,  whethei 
we  are  not,  by  all  the  laws  of  God  and  man,  justified  ii 
avowing  that  we  mean  to  do  as  we  are  done  by. 

And,  Mr.  Renwick,  you  will  call  to  mind  that  in  this 

15  sore  controversy  the  cause  of  debate  came  not  from  us 
"We  were  peaceable  Christians,  enjoying  the  shade  of  the 
vine  and  the  fig-tree  of  the  gospel,  planted  by  the  care  anc 
cherished  by  the  blood  of  our  forefathers,  protected  by  the 
laws,  and  gladdened  in  our  protection  by  the  oaths  and  the 

20  covenants  which  the  king  had  sworn  to  maintain.  The 
Presbyterian  freedom  of  worship  was  our  property,  —  we 
were  in  possession  and  enjoyment,  no  man  could  call  ou: 
right  to  it  in  question,  —  the  king  had  vowed,  as  a  conditioi 
before  he  was  allowed  to  receive  the  crown,  that  he  woulc 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  383 

preserve  it.  Yet,  for  more  than  twenty  years,  there  has 
been  a  most  cruel,  fraudulent,  and  outrageous  endeavor 
instituted,  and  carried  on,  to  deprive  us  of  that  freedom 
and  birthright. 
5  We  were  asking  no  new  thing  from  government ;  we  were 
taking  no  step  to  disturb  government ;  we  were  in  peace 
with  all  men,  —  when  government,  with  the  principles  of  a 
robber  and  the  cruelty  of  a  tyrant,  demanded  of  us  to 
surrender  those  immunities  of  conscience  which  our  fathers 

10  had  earned  and  defended;  to  deny  the  gospel  as  it  is  writ- 
ten in  the  evangelists,  and  to  accept  the  commentary  of 
Charles  Stuart,  a  man  who  has  had  no  respect  to  the  most 
solemn  oaths,  and  of  James  Sharp,  the  apostate  of  St.  An- 
drews, whose  crimes  provoked  a  deed,  that  but  for  their 

15  crimson  hue,  no  man  could  have  doubted  to  call  a  most 
foul  murder.  The  king  and  his  crew,  Mr.  Eenwick,  are, 
to  the  indubitable  judgment  of  all  just  men,  the  causers 
and  the  aggressors  in  the  existing  difference  between  his 
subjects  and  him.     In  so  far,  therefore,  if  blame  there  be, 

20  it  lieth  not  with  us  nor  in  our  cause. 

But,  sir,  not  content  with  attempting  to  wrest  from  us 
our  inherited  freedom  of  religious  worship,  Charles  Stuart 
and  his  abettors  have  pursued  the  courageous  constancy 
with  which  we  have  defended  the  same,  with  more  animos- 

25  ity  than  they  ever  did  any  crime.  I  speak  not  to  you,  Mr. 
Eenwick,  of  your  own  outcast  condition,  —  perhaps  you 
delight  in  the  perils  of  martyrdom ;  I  speak  not  to  those 
around  us,  who,  in  their  persons,  their  substance,  and  their 
families,  have  endured  the  torture,   poverty,  and  irreme- 

30  diable  dishonor, — they  may  be  meek  and  hallowed  men, 
willing  to  endure.  But  I  call  to  mind  what  I  am  and  was 
myself.     I  think  of  my  quiet  home,  —  it  is  all  ashes. 

I  remember  my  brave  first-born,  —  he  was  slain  at  Both- 
well-brigg.     Why  need  I  speak  of  my  honest  brother  ;  the 

35  waves  of  the  ocean,  commissioned  by  our  persecutors,  have 
triumphed  over  him  in  the  cold  seas  of  the  Orkneys ;  and 


384  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

as  for  my  wife,  what  was  she  to  you  ?  Ye  cannot  Ibe  greatly 
disturbed  that  she  is  in  her  grave.  No,  ye  are  quiet,  calm, 
and  prudent  persons ;  it  would  be  a  most  indiscreet  thing 
of  you,  you  who  have  suffered  no  wrongs  yourselves,  to 
5  stir  on  her  account ;  and  then  how  unreasonable  I  should 
be,  were  I  to  speak  of  two  fair  and  innocent  maidens.  It 
is  weak  of  me  to  weep,  though  they  were  my  daughters. 

0  men  and  Christians,  brothers,  fathers !    but  ye  are 
content  to  bear  with  such  wrongs,  and  I  alone  of  all  here 

10  may  go  to  the  gates  of  the  cities,  and  try  to  discover  which 
of  the  martyred  heads  mouldering  there  belongs  to  a  son 
or  a  friend.  Nor  is  it  of  any  account  whether  the  bones 
of  those  who  were  so  dear  to  us,  be  exposed  with  the  re- 
mains of  malefactors,  or  laid  in  the  sacred  grave.     To  the 

15  dead  all  places  are  alike;  and  to  the  slave  what  signifies 
who  is  master.  Let  us  therefore  forget  the  past,  —  let  us 
keep  open  the  door  of  reconciliation,  —  smother  all  the 
wrongs  we  have  endured,  and  kiss  the  proud  foot  of  the 
trampler.  We  have  our  lives,  we  have  been  spared ;  the  mer- 

20  ciless  blood-hounds  have  not  yet  reached  us.  Let  us  there- 
fore be  humble  and  thankful,  and  cry  to  Charles  Stuart, 
0  King,  live  forever !  —  for  he  has  but  cast  us  into  a  fiery 
furnace  and  a  lion's  den. 

In  truth,  friends,   Mr.  Eenwick  is  quite  right.     This 

25  feeling  of  indignation  against  our  oppressors  is  a  most 
imprudent  thing.  If  we  desire  to  enjoy  our  own  contempt, 
and  to  deserve  the  derision  of  men,  and  to  merit  the  ab- 
horrence of  Heaven,  let  us  yield  ourselves  to  all  that 
Charles  Stuart  and  his  sect  require.     We  can  do  nothing 

30  better,  nothing  so  meritorious,  nothing  by  which  we  can 
so  reasonably  hope  for  punishment  here  and  condemnation 
hereafter.  But  if  there  is  one  man  at  this  meeting,  —  I 
am  speaking  not  of  shapes  and  forms,  but  of  feelings,  —  if 
there  is  one  here  that  feels  as  men  were  wont  to  feel,  he 

35  will  draw  his  sword,  and  say  with  me,  Woe  to  the  house  of 
Stuart !  Woe  to  the  oppressors !  And  may  a  just  Grod  look 
with  favor  on  our  cause. 


hillard's  sixth  reader  385 


CXXXV.  —  ALCESTIS  AND   PHEEES. 

Alfieri 

[VlTTORio  Alfieri  was  born  in  Asti,  in  Piedmont,  in  1749,  and  died  in  1803. 
Born  of  a  rich  and  noble  family,  his  early  education  was  defective,  and  his 
youth  was  passed  without  any  honorable  object  in  life,  but  at  the  age  of 
twenty-seven,  he  resolved  to  become  a  tragic  poet,  and  with  this  view  began  a 
laborious  course  of  study,  in  order  to  acquire  the  knowlerlge  he  had  failed  to 
obtain  in  his  boyhood  and  youth.  He  wrote  twenty-one  tragedies,  six  com- 
edies, besides  several  poems  and  translations  from  Greek  and  Latin.  The 
plots  of  his  plays  are  simple,  the  verse  is  unmusical,  and  the  style  dry  and 
hard,  but  they  have  great  energy  of  expression  and  fervor  of  sentiment,  and 
never  fail  to  produce  a  strong  effect  upon  an  audience. 

The  following  scene  is  from  "  Alcestis,"  one  of  the  last  tragedies  Alfieri  com- 
posed, and  marked  by  a  tenderness  of  feeling  not  found  in  his  earlier  plays. 
The  plot  is  founded  upon  a  Greek  legend.  Alcestis  is  the  wife  of  Admetus,  the 
son  of  Pheres.  Admetus  has  died,  and  an  oracle  had  declared  that  he  might 
be  restored  to  life  if  another  person  would  consent  to  die  in  his  place.  Alcestis, 
in  this  dialogue,  announces  her  purpose  of  devoting  herself  to  death,  in  order 
that  her  husband  might  return  to  life.] 

Alcestis.  Weep  thou  no  more.  0  monarch,  dry  thy  tears, 
For  know,  he  shall  not  die ;  not  now  shall  Fate 
Bereave  thee  of  thy  son. 

Pheres.  What  mean  thy  words  ? 

5  Hath  then  Apollo  —  is  there  then  a  hope  ? 

Alcestis.  Yes,  hope  for  thee,  hope,  by  the  voice  pronounced 
From  the  prophetic  cave.     Nor  would  I  yield 
To  other  lips  the  tidings,  meet  alone 
For  thee  to  hear  from  mine. 
10       Pheres.  But  say,  oh !  say, 

Shall,  then,  my  son  be  spared  ? 

Alcestis.  He  shall,  to  ihee^ 

Thus  hath  Apollo  said,  —  Alcestis  thus 
Confirms  the  oracle ;  be  thou  secure. 
15       Pheres.     0  sounds  of  joy  !     He  lives! 

Alcestis.  But  not  for  this ; 

Think  not  that  e'en  for  this  the  stranger,  joy, 
Shall  yet  revisit  these  devoted  walls. 

Pheres.     Can  there  be  grief  when,  from  his  bed  of  death, 
Admetus  rises  ?     What  deep  mystery  lurks 
Within  thy  words  ?  What  mean'st  thou  ?  Gracious  heaven ! 


386  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Thou,  whose  deep  love  is  all  his  own,  who  hearest 

The  tidings  of  his  safety,  and  dost  bear 

Transport  and  life  in  that  glad  oracle 

To  his  despairing  sire ;  thy  cheek  is  tinged 
5  With  death,  and  on  thy  pure,  ingenuous  brow 

To  the  brief  lightning  of  a  sudden  joy 

Shades  dark  as  night  succeed,  and  thou  art  wrapt 

In  troubled  silence.     Speak !  oh !  speak ! 

Alcestis.  The  gods 

10  Themselves  have  limitations  to  their  power, 

Impassable,  eternal ;  and  their  will 

Kesists  not  the  tremendous  laws  of  fate : 

Nor  small  the  boon  they  grant  thee  in  the  life 

Of  thy  restored  Admetus. 
15       Pheres.  In  thy  looks 

There  is  expression  more  than  in  thy  words, 

Which  thrills  my  shuddering  heart.     Declare  what  terms 
.    Can  render  fatal  to  thyself  and  us 

The  rescued  life  of  him  thy  soul  adores? 
20       Alcestis.     0,  father !  could  my  silence  aught  avail 

To  keep  that  fearful  secret  from  thine  ear, 

Still  should  it  rest  unheard  till  all  fulfilled 

Were  the  dread  sacrifice.     But  vain  the  wish ; 

And  since  too  soon,  too  well,  it  must  be  known, 
25  Hear  it  from  me. 

Pheres.  Through  all  my  curdling  veins 

Kuns  a  cold,  death-like  horror ;  and  I  feel 

I  am  not  all  a  father.     In  my  heart 

Strive  many  deep  affections.     Thee  I  love, 
30  0  fair  and  high-souled  consort  of  my  son ! 

More  than  a  daughter ;  and  thine  infant  race, 

The  cherished  hope  and  glory  of  my  age  ; 

And,  unimpaired  by  time,  within  my  breast. 

High,  holy,  and  unalterable  love 
35  For  her,  the  partner  of  my  cares  and  joys, 

Dwells  pure  and  perfect  yet.     Bethink  thee,  then, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  3$,7 

In  what  suspense,  what  agony  of  fear, 

I  wait  thy  words ;  for  well,  too  well,  I  see 

Thy  lips  are  fraught  with  fatal  auguries 

To  some  one  of  my  race. 
6       Alcestis.  Death  hath  his  rights, 

Of  which  not  e'en  the  great  Supernal  Powers 

May  hope  to  rob  him.     By  his  ruthless  hand, 

Already  seized,  the  noble  victim  lay, 

The  heir  of  empire,  in  his  glowing  prime 
10  And  noon-day  struck;  —  Admetus,  the  revered, 

The  blessed,  the  loved,  by  all  who  owned  his  sway, 

By  his  illustrious  parents,  by  the  realms 

Surrounding  his,  —  and  oh  !  what  need  to  add. 

How  much  by  his  Alcestis  ?     Such  was  he, 
15  Already  in  the  unsparing  grasp  of  death. 

Withering,  a  certain  prey.     Apollo  thence 

Hath  snatched  him,  and  another  in  his  stead, 

Although  not  an  equal,  —  (who  can  equal  him  ?)  — 

Must  fall  a  voluntary  sacrifice. 
20  Another  of  his  lineage,  or  to  him 

By  closest  bonds  united,  must  descend 

To  the  dark  realm  of  Orcus'--'  in  his  place, 

Who  thus  alone  is  saved. 

Pheres.  What  do  I  hear  ? 

25  Woe  to  us,  woe !  —  what  victim  ?  —  who  shall  be 

Accepted  in  his  stead  ? 

Alcestis.  The  dread  exchange 

E'en  now,  0  father !  hath  been  made  ;  the  prey 

Is  ready,  nor  is  wholly  worthless  him 
30  Por  whom  'tis  freely  ofifered.     ^or  wilt  thou, 

0  mighty  goddess  of  the  infernal  shades ! 

Whose  image  sanctifies  this  threshold  floor, 

Disdain  the  victim. 

Pheres.  All  prepared  the  prey  ! 

35  And  to  our  blood  allied  !     0  heaven  !  —  and  yet 

*  Orcus,  the  god  of  the  lower  world. 


388  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Thou  bad'st  me  weep  no  more  ! 

Alcestis.  Yes,  thus  I  said, 

And  thus  again  I  say,  —  thou  shalt  not  weep 
Thy  son's,  nor  I  deplore  my  husband's  doom. 
5  Let  him  be  saved,  and  other  sounds  of  woe, 
Less  deep,  less  mournful  far,  shall  here  be  heard, 
Than  those  his  death  had  caused.    With  some  few  tears, 
But  brief,  and  mingled  with  a  gleam  of  joy, 
E'en  while  the  involuntary  tribute  lasts, 

10  The  victim  shall  be  honored,  who  resigned 

Life  for  Admetus.     Wouldst  thou  know  the  prey,  — 
The  vowed,  the  willing,  the  devoted  one, 
Offered  and  hallowed  to  the  infernal  gods  ? 
Father!  'tis  L 

15       Pheres.  What  hast  thou  done  ?     0  heaven  ! 

What  hast  thou  done  ?     And  think' st  thou  he  is  saved 
By  such  a  compact  ?     Think'st  thou  he  can  live 
Bereft  of  thee  ?     Of  thee,  his  light  of  life, 
His  very  soul !  —  Of  thee,  beloved  far  more 

20  Than  his  loved  parents,  —  than  his  children  more, 
More  than  himself !  —  Oh  !  no,  it  shall  not  be  ! 
Thou  perish,  O  Alcestis !  in  the  flower 
Of  thy  young  beauty  ;  —  perish,  and  destroy 
Not  him,  not  him  alone,  but  us,  but  all, 

25  Who  as  a  child  adore  thee  !     Desolate 

Would  be  the  throne,  the  kingdom,  reft  of  thee. 
And  think'st  thou  not  of  those,  whose  tender  years 
Demand  thy  care  ?  —  thy  children !  think  of  them  I 
O  thou,  the  source  of  each  domestic  joy,  — 

30  Thou  in  whose  life  alone  Admetus  lives,  — 
His  glory,  his  delight,  —  thou  shalt  not  die, 
While  I  can  die  for  thee  !  —  Me,  me  alone, 
The  oracle  demands,  —  a  withered  stem, 
Whose  task,  whose  duty  is,  for  him  to  dia 

35  My  race  is  run  ;  —  the  fulness  of  my  years, 
The  faded  hopes  of  age,  and  all  the  love 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  389 

Which  hath  its  dwelling  in  a  father's  heart, 

And  the  fond  pity,  half  with  wonder  blent, 

Inspired  by  thee,  whose  youth  with  heavenly  gifts 

So  richly  is  endowed,  —  all,  all  unite 
5  To  grave  in  adamant  the  just  decree, 

That  I  must  die.     But  thou  —  I  bid  thee  live  I 

Pheres  commands  thee,  0  Alcestis !  live  ! 

Ne'er,  ne'er  shall  woman's  youthful  love  surpass 

An  aged  sire's  devotedness. 
10       Alcestis.  I  know 

Thy  lofty  soul,  thy  fond  paternal  love ; 

Pheres,  I  know  them  well,  and  not  in  vain 

Strove  to  anticipate  their  high  resolves. 

But  if  in  silence  I  have  heard  thy  words, 
15  Now  calmly  list  to  mine,  and  thou  shalt  own 

They  may  not  be  withstood. 

Pheres.  What  canst  thou  say 

Which  I  should  hear  ?     I  go,  resolved  to  save 

Him  who,  with  thee,  would  perish :  —  to  the  shrine 
20  E'en  now  I  fly. 

Alcestis.         Stay,  stay  thee !  't  is  too  late. 

Already  hath  consenting  Proserpine, 

From  the  remote  abysses  of  her  realms, 

Heard  and  accepted  the  terrific  vow 
25  Which  binds  me,  with  indissoluble  ties. 

To  death.     And  I  am  firm,  and  well  I  know 

None  can  deprive  me  of  the  awful  right 

That  vow  hath  won. 

Yes !  thou  mayst  weep  my  fate, 
30  Mourn  for  me,  father !  but  thou  canst  not  blame 

My  lofty  purpose.     Oh  !  the  more  endeared 

My  life  by  every  tie,  the  more  I  feel 

Death's  bitterness,  the  more  my  sacrifice 

Is  worthy  of  Admetus.     I  descend 
35  To  the  dim,  shadowy  regions  of  the  dead, 

A  guest  more  honored. 


300  hillabd's  sixth  reader. 

In  thy  presence  here 
Again  I  utter  the  tremendous  vow, 
Now  more  than  half  fulfilled.     I  feel,  I  know 
Its  dread  effects.     Through  all  my  burning  veins 
5  The  insatiate  fever  revels.     Doubt  is  o'er. 

The  Monarch  of  the  Dead  hath  heard ;  —  he  calls, 
He  summons  me  away,  and  thou  art  saved, 
0  my  Admetus ! 


CXXXVI.— CANNING  AND   BEOUGHAM. 
Anonymous. 

[This  passage  of  words  between  Canning  and  Brougham  took  place  in  April, 
1823.  Canning  had  recently  come  into  the  cabinet,  as  secretary  for  foreign 
affairs,  in  consequence  of  the  death  (by  his  own  hands)  of  the  Marquis  of  Lon- 
donderry, more  generally  known  as  Lord  Castlereagh.  The  cliarge  brought 
against  Canning  was,  that  he  had  come  into  office  without  extorting  any  dis- 
tinct pledges  from  his  colleagues  in  favor  of  Catholic  emancipation,  to  which 
he  was  well  known  to  be  friendly;  and  this  formed  the  burden  of  Brougham's 
attack.  Canning's  defence  was,  that  if  that  concession  had  been  insisted  upon, 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  form  an  administration  to  carry  on  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  country  ;  and  that  it  was  better  to  secure  some  desirable  results, 
than  to  lose  the  whole  by  insisting  upon  having  either  the  whole  or  none. 

The  tone  of  debate  in  the  English  house  of  commoiis  is  more  guarded  and 
decorous  than  that  of  our  house  of  representatives;  and  Canning's  language 
was  an  unusually  vehement  expression  of  feeling.] 

Though  they  resembled  each  other  in  standing  foremost 
and  alone  in  their  respective  parties,  they  were  in  every 
other  respect  opposed  as  the  zenith  and  nadir,  or  as  light 
and  darkness. 
5  This  difference  extended  even  to  their  personal  appear- 
ance. Canning  was  airy,  open,  and  prepossessing  ;  Broug- 
ham seemed  stern,  hard,  lowering,  and  almost  repulsive. 
The  head  of  Canning  had  an  air  of  extreme  elegance :  that 
of  Brougham  was  much  the  reverse  ;  but  still,  in  whatever 
10  way  it  was  viewed,  it  gave  a  sure  indication  of  the  terrible 
power  of  the  inhabitant  within.  Canning's  features  were 
handsome;  his  eye,  though  deeply  ensconced   under  his 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  391 

eyebrows,  was  full  of  sparkle  and  gayety.  The  feat- 
ures of  Brougham  were  harsh  in  the  extreme :  while  his 
forehead  shot  up  to  a  great  elevation,  his  chin  was  long 
and  square ;  his  mouth,  nose,  and  eyes  seemed  huddled 
5  together  in  the  centre  of  his  face  —  the  eyes  absolutely 
lost  amid  folds  and  corrugations  ;  and  while  he  sat  listen- 
ing, they  seemed  to  retire  inward,  or  to  be  veiled  by  a 
filmy  curtain,  which  not  only  concealed  the  appalling  glare 
which  shot  away  from  them  when  he  was  roused,  but  ren- 

10  dered  his  mind  and  his  purpose  a  sealed  book  to  the  keenest 
scrutiny  of  man. 

Canning's  passions  appeared  upon  the  open  campaign  of 
his  face,  drawn  up  in  a  ready  array,  and  moved  to  and  fro 
at  every  turn  of  his  oration,  and  every  retort  in  that  of  his 

15  antagonist:  those  of  Brougham  remained  within,  as  in  a 
citadel  which  no  artillery  could  batter  and  no  mine  blow 
up ;  and  even  when  he  was  putting  forth  all  the  power  of 
his  eloquence,  when  every  ear  was  tingling  at  what  he  said, 
and  while  the  immediate  object  of  his  invective  was  writh- 

20  ing  in  helpless  and  indescribable  agony,  his  visage  retained 
its  cold  and  brassy  hue,  and  he  triumphed  over  the  pas- 
sions of  other  men  by  seeming  to  be  wholly  without  passion 
himself.  The  whole  form  of  Canning  was  rounded,  and 
smooth,  and  graceful;  that  of  Brougham   angular,  long, 

25  and  awkward.  When  Canning  rose  to  speak,  he  elevated 
his  countenance,  and  seemed  to  look  round  for  the  applause 
of  those  about  him,  as  an  object  dear  to  his  feelings ; 
while  Brougham  stood  coiled  and  concentrated,  reckless  of 
all  but  the  power  that  was  within  himself.    From  Canning 

30  there  was  expected  the  glitter  of  wit  and  the  flow  of  spirit 
—  something  showy  and  elegant.  Brougham  stood  up  as 
a  being  whose  powers  and  intentions  were  all  a  mystery  — 
whose  aim  and  efiect  no  living  man  could  divine.  You 
bent  forward  to  catch  the  first  sentence  of  the  one,  and 

35  felt  human  nature  elevated  in  the  specimen  before  you ; 
you  crouched  and  shrank  back  from  the  other,  and  dreams 


392  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

of  ruin  and  annihilation  darted  across  your  mind-  The 
one  seemed  to  dwell  among  men,  to  join  in  their  joys,  and 
to  live  upon  their  praise ;  the  other  appeared  a  son  of  the 
desert,  who  had  deigned  to  visit  the  human  race  merely  to 
5  make  them  tremble  at  his  strength. 

The  style,  and  the  eloquence  and  structure  of  their  ora- 
tions, were  equally  different.  Canning  chose  his  words  for 
the  sweetness  of  their  sound,  and  arranged  his  periods  for 
the  melody  of  their  cadence ;  while,  with  Brougham,  the 

10  more  hard  and  unmouthahle,  the  better.  Canning  arranged 
his  words  like  one  who  could  play  skilfully  upon  that 
sweetest  of  all  instruments,  the  human  voice ;  Brougham 
proceeded  like  a  master  of  every  power  of  reasoning  and  of 
the  understanding.    Canning  marched  forward  in  a  straight 

15  and  clear  track;  every  paragraph  was  perfect  in  itself,  and 
every  coruscation  of  wit  and  genius  was  brilliant  and  de- 
lightful ;  it  was  all  felt,  and  it  was  all  at  once.  Brougham 
twined  round  and  round  in  a  spiral,  sweeping  the  contents 
of  a  vast  circumference  before  him,  uniting  and  pouring 

20  them  onward  to  the  main  point  of  attack.  When  he  began, 
one  was  astonished  at  the  wideness  and  obliquity  of  his 
course ;  nor  was  it  possible  to  comprehend  how  he  was  to 
dispose  of  the  vast  and  varied  materials  which  he  collected 
by  the  way ;  but  as  the  curve  l^sened,  and  the  end  ap- 

25  peared,  it  became  obvious  that  all  was  to  be  efficient  there. 

Such  were  the  rival  orators  who  sat  glancing  hostility 

and  defiance  at  each  other  during  the  early  part  of  the 

session  of  1823  —  Brougham  as  if  wishing  to  overthrow 

the  secretary  by  a  sweeping  accusation  of  having  abandoned 

30  all  principle  for  the  sake  of  office,  and  the  secretary  ready 
to  parry  the  charge  and  attack  in  his  turn.  An  opportu- 
nity at  length  offered;  and  it  is  more  worthy  of  being 
recorded,  as  being  the  last  terrible  and  personal  attack 
previous  to  that  change  in  the  measures  of  the  cabinet, 

35  which,  though  it  had  been  begun  from  the  moment  that 
Canning,  Eobinson,  and  Huskisson  came  into  office,  was 


HILLAKD'S    SIXTH   READER.  593 

not  at  that  time  perceived,  or  at  least  not  admitted  and 
appreciated. 

Upon  that  occasion,  the  oration  of  Brougham  was  at  the 
outset  disjointed  and  ragged,  and  apparently  without  aim 
6  or  application.  He  careered  over  the  whole  annals  of  the 
world,  and  collected  every  instance  in  which  genius  had 
degraded  itself  at  the  footstool  of  power,  or  in  which  prin- 
ciple had  been  sacrificed  for  the  vanity  or  lucre  of  place  ; 
but  still  there  was  no  allusion  to  Canning,  and  no  connec- 

10  tion,  that  ordinary  men  could  discover,  with  the  business 
before  the  house. 

When,  however,  he  had  collected  every  material  which 
suited  his  purpose,  —  when  the  mass  had  become  big  and 
black,  —  he  bound  it  about  and  about  with  the  cords  of 

15  illustration  and  of 'argument;  when  its  union  was  secure, 
he  swung  it  round  and  round  with  the  strength  of  a  giant 
and  the  rapidity  of  a  whirlwind,  in  order  that  its  impetus 
and  effect  might  be  the  more  tremendous  ;  and  while  doing 
this,  he  ever  and  anon  glared  his  eye,  and  pointed  his 

20  finger,  to  make  the  aim  and  the  direction  sure.  Canning 
himself  was  the  first  that  seemed  to  be  aware  where  and 
how  terrible  was  to  be  the  collision ;  and  he  kept  writhing 
his  body  in  agony,  and  rolling  his  eyes  in  fear,  as  if  anx- 
ious to  find  some  shelter  from  the  impending  bolt.     The 

25  house  soon  caught  the  impression,  and  every  man  in  it  was 
glancing  his  eye  fearfully,  first  towards  the  orator,  and  then 
towards  the  secretary. 

There  was  —  save  the  voice  of  Brougham,  which  growled 
in  that  undertone  of  thunder  which  is  so  fearfully  audible, 

30  and  of  which  no  speaker  of  the  day  was  fully  master  but 
himself —  a  silence  as  if  the  angel  of  retribution  had  been 
opening,  in  the  faces  of  all  parties,  the  scroll  of  their  private 
sins.  A  pen,  which  one  of  the  secretaries  dropped  upon  the 
matting,  was  heard  in  the  remotest  part  of  the  house.    The 

35  stiffness  of  Brougham's  figure  had  vanished ;  his  features 
seemed  concentrated  almost  to  a  point ;  he  glanced  towards 


394  hillard's  sixth  reader/ 

every  part  of  the  house  in  succession,  and  sounded  the 
death-knell  of  the  secretary's  forbearance  and  prudence. 

With  both  his  clinched  hands  upon  the  table,  he  hurled 
at  him  an  accusation  more  dreadful  in  its  gall,  and  more 
5  torturing  in  its  effects,  than  has  ever  been  hurled  at  mortal 
man  within  the  same  walls.  The  result  was  instantaneous 
—  was  electric :  it  was  as  when  the  thunder-cloud  descends 
upon  some  giant  peak  —  one  flash,  one  peal !  —  the  sub- 
limity vanished,  and  all  that  remained  was  a  small  patter- 
10  ing  of  rain.  Canning  started  to  his  feet,  and  was  able 
only  to  utter  the  unguarded  words,  "  It  is  false  !  "  —  to 
which  followed  a  dull  chapter  of  apologies.  From  that 
moment,  the  house  became  more  a  scene  of  real  business 
than  of  airy  display  and  of  angry  vituperation. 


CXXXVII.  — SCENE  FROM  KING  HENRY  IV. 

Shakspeare. 

[This  dialogue  is  from  the  first  act  of  the  "  First  Part  of  King  Henry  IV." 
The  King,  Henry  Bolingbroke,  now  Henry  IV.,  had  deposed  his  predecessor, 
Kichard  II.,  and  was  reigning  in  his  stead.  Thomas  Percy,  Earl  of  Worces- 
ter, and  Henry  Percy,  Earl  of  Northumberland,  father  of  Hotspur,  had  been 
partizans  of  the  reigning  king,  and  he  was  under  obligations  to  them.  An  invad- 
ing army  of  the  Scots  had  recently  been  defeated  by  Hotspur,  and  the  King 
demands  that  the  prisoners  should  be  surrendered  to  him.  Sir  Edmund  Mor- 
timer, brother-in-law  of  Hotspur,  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Welsh  chief- 
tain, Owen  Glendower,  and  the  King  had  refused  to  ransom  him  because  he 
was  the  lawful  heir  to  the  throne  after  the  death  of  Richard  II.  This  is 
according  to  Shakspeare;  but  the  real  heir,  according  to  history,  was  the 
nephew  of  Mortimer,  the  Earl  of  March,  a  young  boy  whom  the  King  kept 
confined  in  Winsor  Castle.  The  dialogue  is  supposed  to  take  place  in  the 
royal  palace  in  London.] 

[King  Henry  IV.,  Hotspur,  Worcester,  and  Northumberland.] 
King  Henry.     Henceforth 
Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer : 
Send  me  your  prisoners  by  the  speediest  means, 
Or  you  shall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 
As  will  displease  you.     My  lord  Nprthumberland, 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  S95 

We  license  your  departure  with  your  son :  — 
Send  us  your  prisoners,  or  you  '11  hear  of  it. 

l_JSxit  King  Henry, 
Hotspur.     And  if  the  devil  come  and  roar  for  them, 
I  will  not  send  them :  I  will  after  straight, 
5  And  tell  him  so  ;  for  I  will  ease  my  heart. 
Although  it  be  with  hazard  of  my  head. 
Northumberland.     What !  drunk  with  choler  ?  stay, 
and  pause  awhile ;  — 
Here  comes  your  uncle.  {Enter  Worcester, 

Hot.  Speak  of  Mortimer ! 

10  Zounds  !     I  will  speak  of  him,  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him. 
Yea,  on  his  part,  I  '11  empty  all  these  veins, 
And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  by  drop  i'  the  dust, 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
15  As  high  i'  the  air  as  this  unthankful  king, 
As  this  ingrate  and  cankered  Bolingbroke. 

North.    \_To  Worcester.^     Brother,  the  king  hath  made 

your  nephew  mad. 
Worcester.    Who  struck  this  heat  up,  after  I  was  gone? 
Hot.     He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners  ; 
20  And  when  I  urged  the  ransom  once  again 

Of  my  wife's  brother,  then>  his  cheek  looked  pale, 
And  on  my  face  he  turned  an  eye  of  death, 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

WoR.     I  cannot  blame  him.    Was  he  not  proclaimed 
25  By  Eichard  that  dead  is,  the  next  of  blood  ? 
North.     He  was :  I  heard  the  proclamation ; 
And  then  it  was  when  the  unhappy  king 
(Whose  wrongs  in  us  God  pardon ! )  did  set  forth 
Upon  his  Irish  expedition : 
30  From  whence  he,  intercepted,  did  return 
To  be  deposed,  and  shortly,  murdered. 

WoR.    And  for  whose  death  we  in  the  world's  wide  mouth 
Live  scandalized  and  foully  spoken  of. 


396  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

But  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I  '11  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous, 
As  full  of  peril  and  advent' rous  spirit 
5  As  to  o'erwalk  a  current  roaring  loud. 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hot.     If  he  fall  in,  good  night !  —  or  sink  or  swim, 
Send  danger  from  the  East  unto  the  West, 
So  honor  cross  it  from  the  North  to  South, 
10  And  let  them  grapple.     0,  the  blood  more  stirs 
To  rouse  a  lion  than  to  start  a  hare  ! 

North.     Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 
Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 

Hot.     By  Heaven !  methinks  it  were  an  easy  leap 
15  To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon; 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep. 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks. 
So  he  that  doth  redeem  her  thence  might  wear, 
20  Without  corrival,"  all  her  dignities : 
But  out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship  ! 

WoR.     He  apprehends  a  world  of  j&gures  here. 
But  not  the  form  of  what  he  should  attend. 
Good  cousin,!  give  me  audience  for  a  while, 
25  And  list  to  me. 

Hot.     I  cry  )  ou  mercy  : 

WoR.  Those  same  noble  Scots, 

That  are  your  prisoners  — 

Hot.  I  '11  keep  them  all,  — 

30  By  Heaven  !  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them : 
No,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not : 
I  '11  keep  them,  by  this  hand ! 

WoR.  You  start  away, 

♦  Corrival,  same  as  rival. 

t  In  Shakspeare's  time,  cousin  was  an  address  frequentiy  applied  to  a  rela- 
tive of  any  kind.    Hotspur  was  Worcester's  nephew. 


htllaed's  sixth  reader.  397 

And  lend  no  ear  unto  mj  purposes :  '••' 
Those  prisoners  you  shall  keep. 

Hot,     Nay,  I  will ;  that 's  flat. 
He  said  he  would  not  ransom  Mortimer  ; 
Forhade  my  tongue  to  speak  of  Mortimer ; 
But  I  will  find  him  when  he  lies  asleep, 
5  And  in  his  ear  I  '11  holla —  "  Mortimer !  " 

Nay,  I  '11  have  a  starling  shall  be  taught  to  speak 
Nothing  but  "  Mortimer,"  and  give  it  him, 
To  keep  his  anger  still  in  motion. 

WoR.     Hear  you,  cousin ;  a  word. 
10       Hot.     All  studies  here  1  solemnly  defy. 
Save  how  to  gall  and  pinch  this  Bolingbroke, 
And  that  same  sword-and-buckler  f  Prince  of  Wales  — 
But  that  I  think  his  father  loves  him  not, 
And  would  be  glad  he  met  with  some  mischance, 
15  I  'd  have  him  poisoned  with  a  pot  of  ale. 

WoR.     Farewell,  kinsman.     I  will  talk  to  you 
When  you  are  bettered  tempered  to  attend. 


CXXXVIIL  — THE  SKELETON  IN  AKMOE. 

Longfellow. 

[This  poem  was  published  in  1842.  The  author,  in  an  introduction,  says  : 
*'  The  following  ballad  was  suggested  to  me  while  :fiding  on  the  sea-shore  at 
Newport.  A  year  or  two  previous  a  skeleton  had  been  dug  up  at  Fall  ^iver, 
clad  in  broken  and  corroded  armor ;  and  the  idea  occurred  to  me  of  connt,.  'ng 
it  with  the  Round  Tower  at  Newport,  generally  known  hitherto  as  the  Old 
Wind  Mill,  though  now  claimed  by  the  Danes  as  a  work  of  their  early  ances- 
tors."] 

1     **  Speak  !  Speak !  thou  fearful  guest ! 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 
Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 

♦  Purposes,  conversation. 

t  The  sword  and  buckler  were  weapons  worn  by  low  fellows, 
34 


398  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

"Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 
But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms. 
Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  ?  " 

2  Then,  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise, 

As  when  the  Northern  skies 

Gleam  in  December ; 
And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow, 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber. 

3  **  I  was  a  Viking  ■'  old ! 
My  deeds,  though  manifold, 
No  Skald  f  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga  I  taught  thee ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse. 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse ; 

Eor  this  I  sought  thee. 

4  *'  Far  in  the  Northern  Land, 
By  the  wild  Baltic's  strand, 
I,  with  my  childish  hand. 

Tamed  the  ger-falcon ; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound. 
Skimmed  the  half- frozen  Sound, 
That  the  poor  whimpering  hound 

Trembled  to  walk  on. 

5  "  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear, 

•  ViMng,  a  Northman  pirate.  f  SkcUd,  an  ancient  Scandinavian  poet, 

t  Saga,  an  old  heroic  Scandinavian  tale. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  399 

"While  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow ; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  were- wolf 's  hark, 
Until  the  soaring  lark 

Sang  from  the  meadow. 

"  But  when  I  older  grew. 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 

With  the  marauders. 
"Wild  was  the  life  we  led ; 
Many  the  souls  that  sped, 
Many  the  hearts  that  bled, 

By  our  stem  orders. 

"  Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me. 

Burning  yet  tender ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  soft  splendor. 

"  Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall, 
Loud  sang  the  minstrel's  all, 

Chanting  his  glory ; 
When  of  Old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand, 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

"  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed. 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed, 


400  hillahd's  sixth  reader. 

And  as  the  wind-gusts  waft 

The  sea-foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 
Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

10  *«  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 
I  but  a  Viking  wild, 

And,  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

I  was  discarded ! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea-mew's  flight  ? 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 

Her  nest  unguarded  ? 

11  "  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me,  — 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen  I  — 
When  on  the  white  sea-strand, 
Waving  his  armed  hand, 
Saw  we  Old  Hildebrand, 

With  twenty  horsemen. 

12    «  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast. 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast. 

When  the  wind  failed  us  j 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw,'-' 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 
Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 

*  Skaw,  the  extreme  northern  headland  of  Denmark. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  401 

13     "  And  as  to  catcii  the  gale, 

Eound  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
Death  !  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

Death  without  quarter ! 
Midships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water ! 

H     "  As,  with  his  wings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt, 

"With  his  prey  laden, 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again, 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 
Bore  I  the  maiden. 

15  "  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore, 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er. 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour. 

Stands  looking  seaward. 

16  "  There  lived  we  many  years  ; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears ; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears. 

She  was  a  mother : 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes ; 
Under  that  tower  she  lies ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 

On  such  another !  -.^ 

34* 


4^  hillard's  sixth  header. 

17  "  Still  grew  my  bosom  then, 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sunlight  hateful  I 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Tell  I  upon  my  spear,  — 

0,  death  was  grateful  I 

18  "  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars 
Bursting  these  prison  bars. 

Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended ! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul. 
Skoal!  to  the  Northland!  skoal r'^ 

Thus  the  tale  ended. 


CXXXIX.  — MOKAL   GLOEIES. 

Horace  Mann. 
[Horace  Mann  was  born  in  Franklin,  Massachusetts,  May  4,  1796,  and  died 
August  2,  1859.  He  was  graduated  at  Brown  University  in  1819,  and  admitted 
to  the  bar  in  1823,  and  continued  in  the  practice  of  his  profession,  first  at  Ded- 
ham,  and  then  at-Boston,  for  the  next  fourteen  years.  He  was,  during  this 
pariod,  almost  constantly,  a  member  of  the  legislature,  and  for  two  years  pres- 
ident of  the  senate.  He  was  an  earnest  supporter  of  all  legislative  measures 
for  the  suppression  of  vice  and  crime,  and  the  relief  of  human  suflfering.  In 
ISaf  he  was  chosen  secretary  of  the  Massachusetts  board  of  education,  and  for 
several  years  devoted  himself  to  the  labors  of  this  arduous  post  with  charac- 
teristic energy  and  enthusiasm.  By  his  writings,  his  lectures,  his  correspond- 
ence, and  his  personal  influence,  he  gave  a  great  impulse  to  the  cause  of 
education,  not  merely  in  Massachusetts,  but  all  over  the  country.  Upon  the 
death  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  in  1848,  Mr.  Mann  was  chosen  to  congress  in  his 
place,  and  remained  a  member  of  the  house  of  representatives  till  1852,  when 
he  was  chosen  president  of  Antioch  College,  Ohio,  where  he  remained  till  the 
time  of  his  death,  laboring  with  his  usual  zeal  and  energy  in  the  cause  of 
education  and  philanthropy.    While  in  congress  he  was  distinguished  for  his 

*  In  Scandinavia  this  is  the  customary  salutation  when  drinking  a  health. 
The  orthography  of  the  word  is  slightly  changed,  in  order  to  preserve  the 
correct  pronunciation. 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  403 

fervent  anti-slavery  zeal.  He  "was  a  man  of  ardent  benevolence  and  great  force 
of  character,  and  his  writings  are  distinguished  for  fervid  eloquence  and 
impassioned  earnestness.] 

A  HIGHER  and  holier  world  than  the  world  of  Ideas,  or 
the  world  of  Beauty,  lies  around  us ;  and  we  find  ourselves 
endued  with  susceptibilities  which  affiliate  us  to  all  its 
purity  and  its  perfectness.  The  laws  of  nature  are  sub- 
5  lime,  but  there  is  a  moral  sublimity  before  which  the  high- 
est intelligences  must  kneel  and  adore. 

The  laws  by  which  the  winds  blow,  and  the  tides  of  the 
ocean,  like  a  vast  clepsydra,  measure,  with  inimitable  ex- 
actness, the  hours  of  ever-flowing  time  ;  the  laws  by  which 

10  the  planets  roll,  and  the  sun  vivifies  and  paints  ;  the  laws 
which  preside  over  the  subtle  combinations  of  chemistry, 
and  the  amazing  velocities  of  electricity ;  the  laws  of 
germination  and  production  in  the  vegetable  and  animal 
worlds,  —  all  these,  radiant  with  eternal  beauty  as  they 

15  are,  and  exalted  above  all  the  objects  of  sense,  still  wane 
and  pale  before  the  Moral  Glories  that  apparel  the  universe 
in  their  celestial  light. 

The  heart  can  put  on  charms  which  no  beauty  of  known 
things,  nor  imagination  of  the  unknown,  can  aspire  to  em- 

20  ulate.  Virtue  shines  in  native  colors,  purer  and  brighter 
than  pearl,  or  diamond,  or  prism,  can  reflect.  Arabian 
gardens  in  their  bloom  can  exhale  no  such  sweetness  as 
charity  difi'uses.  Beneficence  is  godlike,  and  he  who  does 
most  good  to  his  fellow-man  is  the  Master  of  Masters,  and 

25  has  learned  the  Art  of  Arts. 

Enrich  and  embellish  the  universe  as  you  will,  it  is  only 
a  fit  temple  for  the  heart  that  loves  truth  with  a  supreme 
love.  Inanimate  vastness  excites  wonder ;  knowledge  kin- 
dles admiration ;  but  love  enraptures  the  soul.     Scientific 

30  truth  is  marvellous,  but  moral  truth  is  divine  ;  and  whoever 
breathes  its  air,  and  walks  by  its  light,  has  found  the  lost 
paradise.  For  him  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  have 
already  been  created.  His  home  is  the  sanctuary  of  God, 
the  Holy  of  Holies. 


404 


CXL.  — THE  KEFOKM   BILL. 

.  Sydney  Smith. 

[Sydnkt  Smith,  a  clergyman  of  the  church  of  England,  was  bom  afWood- 
ford,  in  the  county  of  Essex,  England,  in  1771,  and  died  in  1845.  He  was  one 
of  the  founders  of  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  a  periodical  journal  which  has 
exerted,  and  is  continuing  to  exert,  so  great  an  influence  over  the  literature 
and  politics  of  Great  Britain ;  and  for  many  years  he  was  a  constant  contributor 
to  its  pages.  Among  all  the  writers  of  his  time,  he  is  remarkable  for  his 
brilliant  wit  and  rich  vein  of  humor,  which  give  a  peculiar  and  pungent  flavor 
to  everything  tliat  falls  from  his  pen.  But  his  wit  and  humor  rested  upon  a 
foundation  of  sound  common  sense,  and  were  always  under  the  control  of  a 
warm  and  good  heart.  In  reading  him,  we  feel  first  that  he  is  a  vrise  man,  and 
then  a  witty  man.  He  was  a  courageous  and  consistent  friend  of  civil  and 
religious  liberty;  and  in  the  various  articles  wliich  he  contributed  to  the 
"  Edinburgh  Review,"  on  social  and  political  reform,  he  shows  the  enlarged 
views  of  an  enlightened  statesman,  and  the  benevolent  feeling  of  a  Christian 
philanthropist. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  speech  delivered  at  Taunton,  England, 
in  October,  1831 ,  at  a  county  meeting  held  in  consequence  of  the  rejection  by 
the  house  of  lords  of  the  reform  bill  which  had  been  passed  by  the  house  of 
commons.] 

I  HAVE  spojfwi  SO  often  on  this  subject,  that  I  am  sure 
both  you  and  the  gentlemen  here  present  will  be  obliged 
to  me  for  saying  but  little,  and  that  favor  I  am  as  willing 
to  confer  as  you  can  be  to  receive  it.  I  feel  most  deeply 
6  the  event  which  has  taken  place,  because,  by  putting  the 
two  houses  of  parliament  in  collision  with  each  other,  it 
will  impede  the  public  business  and  diminish  the  public 
prosperity.  I  feel  it  as  a  churchman,  because  I  cannot  but 
blush  to  see  so  many  dignitaries  of  the  church  arrayed 

10  against  the  wishes  and  happiness  of  the  people.  I  feel  it 
more  than  all,  because  I  believe  it  will  sow  the  seeds  of 
deadly  hatred  between  the  aristocracy  and  the  great  mass 
of  the  people. 

The  loss  of  the  bill  I  do  not  feel,  and  for  the  best  of  all 

15  possible  reasons  —  because  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea 
that  it  is  lost.  I  have  no  more  doubt,  before  the  expiration 
of  the  winter,  that  this  bill  will  pass,  than  I  have  that  the 
annual  tax  bills  will  pass,  and  greater  certainty  than  this 
no  man  can  have,  for  Franklin  tells  us  there  are  but  two 
things  certain  in  this  world  —  death  and  taxes. 


hillakd's  sixth  header.  405 

As  for  the  possibility  of  the  house  of  lords  preventing, 
ere  long,  a  reform  of  parliament,  I  hold  it  to  be  the  most 
absurd  notion  that  ever  entered  into  human  imagination. 
I  do  not  mean  to  be  disrespectful,  but  the  attempt  of  the 
5  lords  to  stop  the  progress  of  reform,  reminds  me  very  for- 
cibly of  the  great  storm  of  Sidmouth,  and  of  the  conduct 
of  the  excellent  Mrs.  Partington  on  that  occasion. 

In  the  winter  of  1824,  there  set  in  a  great  flood  upon 
that  town  —  the  tide  rose  to  an  incredible  height  —  the 

10  waves  rushed  in  upon  the  houses,  and  everything  was 
threatened  with  destruction.  In  the  midst  of  this  sublime 
and  terrible  storm.  Dame  Partington,  who  lived  upon  the 
beach,  was  seen  at  the  door  of  her  house,  with  mop  and 
feathers,  trundling  her  mop,  squeezing  out  the  sea- water, 

15  and  vigorously  pushing  away  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  The 
Atlantic  was  roused.  Mrs.  Partingtou  s  spirit  was  up  ; 
but  I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  congest  was  unequal. 
The  Atlantic  Ocean  beat  Mrs.  Partington.  She  was  excel- 
lent at  a  slop,  or  a  puddle,  but  she  should  not  have  meddled 

20  with  a  tempest.  Gentlemen,  be  at  your  ease  —  be  quiet 
and  steady.     You  will  beat  Mrs.  Partington. 


CXLL— ELEGY  WKITTEN   IN  A  COUNTEY 
CHUKCH-YAKD. 

Gray. 

[Thomas  Gray  was  born  in  London,  December  26,  1716,  and  died  July  30, 
1771.  Though  he  has  written  but  little,  he  holds  a  high  rank  in  English  liter- 
ature from  the  energy,  splendor,  and  perfect  finish  of  his  poetical  style.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  his  tim(%  and  liis  letters  are  delightful 
from  their  playfulness  and  grace.  His  "  Elegy  in  a  Country  Church-yard  " 
is  perhaps  the  most  popular  jjiecc  of  poetry  in  the  English  language.  "It 
abounds,"  says  Dr.  Johnson  "  with  images  which  find  a  mirror  in  every  mind, 
and  with  sentiments  to  which  every  bosom  returns  an  echo."] 

1     The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
35* 


406  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

2  Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the. distant  folds; 

3  Save  that,  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 

The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower. 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

4  Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  rude  Forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

5  The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn. 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 
19ie  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

6  Tor  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 
Or  climb  his  knees,  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

7  Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke  ; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield ! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke  ! 

8  Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil. 

Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure  ; 


iiillard's  sixth  eeader.  407 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  witli  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

9     The  hoast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour  :  — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

1 0  Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 

If  memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 
Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  authem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

1 1  Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 
Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust. 

Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

12  Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 
.l|  Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
*      Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre : 

13  But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 

Eich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

14-     Pull  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

15     Some  village  Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 


p^ 


408  hillard's  sixth  ke^vder. 

Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

16  Th'  applause  of  listn'ing  senates  to  command, 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

17  Their  lot  forbade  ;  nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined : 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind  ; 

18  The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 

To  quench  tlie  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

19  Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife 

Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 
Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

20  Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect. 

Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

21  Their  names,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlettered  Muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

22  For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey. 

This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned. 


HILLARD^S    SIXTH    HEADER.  409 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires  ; 

E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

Eor  thee,  who,  mindful  of  th'  unhonored  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate, 

If  'chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate,  — 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 
"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

"  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove. 

Now  drooping,  woeful-wan,  like  one  forlorn, 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

"  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  custom'd  hill. 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree  : 

Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he : 

•*  The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array. 

Slow  through  the  church  way  path  we  saw  him  borne, 
35 


410  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Approach,  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

THE    EPITAPH. 

30  Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth 

A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown, 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 

And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

31  Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere; 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send : 
He  gave  to  misery,  all  he  had,  a  tear  — 

He  gained  from  Heaven  ( 't  was  all  he  wished)  a  friend. 

32  No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 


♦CXLII.  — THE    CAUSE    OF    THE   UNION. 

R.  C.    WiNTHROP. 

[Robert  Charles  Winthrop  was  born  in  Boston  May  12,  1809,  and  was 
graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1828.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  In  1831, 
but  never  engaged  in  the  practice  of  the  profession.  In  1834  he  was  elected  to 
the  house  of  representatives  of  Massachusetts,  and  re-elected  daring  five 
successive  years,  during  the  last  three  of  which  he  served  as  speaker.  In  the 
autumn  of  1840  he  was  chosen  to  the  house  of  representatives  in  congress, 
and  continued  a  member  of  that  body  during  the  next  ten  years,  with  the 
exception  of  a  brief  interval.  From  December,  1847,  to  March,  1849,  he  was 
speaker  of  the  house.  In  1856  he  served  a  short  time  in  the  senate  of  tlie 
United  States,  by  appointment  of  the  governor  of  Massachusetts.  During 
his  public  life  Mr.  "Winthrop  was  a  leading  member  of  the  "Whig  party.  He 
spoke  frequently  upon  the  great  questions  of  the  day,  and  his  speeches  always 
commanded  attention  from  their  well-considered  arguments  and  propriety  of 
tone.  A  volume  of  his  addresses  and  speeches  was  published  in  1852,  since 
which  time  he  has  published  several  lectures  and  public  discourses.  The  fol- 
lowing piece  is  made  up  of  extracts  from  a  speech  delivered  at  Boston  Octo- 
ber 3,  1861,  on  the  presentation  of  a  flag  to  the  twenty-second  Massachusetts 
regiment,  then  under  the  command  of  Mr.  Senator  Wilson,  by  whom  it  had 
been  raised.] 


i 


IlILLAllD'S    SIXTH    HEADER.  411 

"  Union  for  the  sake  of  the  Union  ;  "  "  our  country,  our 
whole  country,  and  nothing  but  our  country ;  "  these  are 
the  mottoes,  old,  stale,  hackneyed,  and  threadbare,  as  they 
may  have  seemed  when  employed  as  the  watchwords  of  an 
6  electioneering  campaign,  but  clothed  with  a  new  power, 
a  new  significance,  a  new  gloss,  and  a  new  glory,  when 
uttered  as  the  battle-cries  of  a  nation  struggling  for  exist- 
ence ;  these  are  the  only  mottoes  which  can  give  a  j  ust  and 
adequate  expression  to  the  cause  in  which  you  have  en- 

10  listed.  Sir,  I  thank  Heaven  that  the  trumpet  has  given 
no  uncertain  sound  while  you  have  been  preparing  your- 
selves for  the  battle. 

This  is  the  Cause  which  has  been  solemnly  proclaimed 
by  both  branches  of  congress,  in  resolutions  passed  at  the 

15  instance  of  those  true-hearted  sons  of  Tennessee  and  Ken- 
tucky, —  Johnson  and  Crittenden,  —  and  which,  I  rejoice 
to  remember  at  this  hour,  received  your  own  official  sanc- 
tion as  a  senator  of  the  United  States. 

This  is  the  Cause  which  has  been  recognized  and  avowed 

20  by  the  President  of  the  United  States,  with  a  frankness 
and  a  fearlessness  which  have  won  the  respect  and  admi- 
ration of  us  all. 

This  is  the  Cause  which  has  been  so  fervently  com- 
mended to  us  from  the  dying  lips  of  a  Douglas,  and  by 

25  the  matchless  living  voices  of  a  Holt  and  an  Everett. 

And  this,  finally,  is  the  Cause  which  has  obliterated  as 
no  other  cause  could  have  done,  all  divisions  and  distinc- 
tions of  party,  nationality,  and  creed ;  which  has  appealed 
alike  to  Eepublican,  Democrat,  and  Union  Whig,  to  native 

80  citizen  and  adopted  citizen  ;  and  in  which  not  the  sons  of 
Massachusetts,  or  of  New  IJngland,  or  of  the  North  alone, 
not  the  dwellers  on  the  Hudson,  the  Delaware,  and  the 
Susquehanna  only,  but  so  many  of  those  also,  on  the  Po- 
tomac and  the  Ohio,  the  Mississippi  and  the  Missouri,  on 

35  all  the  lakes,  and  in  all  the  vast  Mesopotamia  of  the 
mighty  West,  —  yes,  and  strangers  from  beyond  the  seas, 


412  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

Irish  and  Scotch,  German,  Italian,  and  Trench,  —  the 
common  emigrant,  and  those  who  have  stood  nearest  to  a 
throne,  —  brave  and  devoted  men  from  almost  every 
nation  under  heaven,  —  men  who  have  measured  the  value 
6  of  our  country  to  the  world  by  a  nobler  standard  than  the 
cotton  crop,  and  who  realize  that  other  and  more  momen- 
tous destinies  are  at  stake  upon  our  struggle  than  such  as 
can  be  wrought  upon  any  mere  material  looms  and  shut- 
tles, —  all,  all  are  seen  rallying  beneath  a  common  flag, 

10  and  exclaiming  with  one  heart  and  voice:  "  The  Ameri- 
can Union,  it  must  be  and  shall  be  preserved !  " 

And  we  owe  it,  sir,  to  the  memory  of  our  fathers,  we 
owe  it  to  the  hopes  of  our  children,  we  owe  it  to  the  cause 
of  free  institutions,  and  of  good  government  of  every  sort 

15  throughout  the  world,  to  make  the  effort,  cost  what  it 
may  of  treasure  or  of  blood,  and,  with  God's  help,  to 
accomplish  the  result. 

I  have  said  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  manifest 
the  spirit  in  which  this  fl,ag  is  now  committed  to  your 

20  charge.  It  is  the  national  ensign,  pure  and  simple,  dear- 
er to  all  our  hearts  at  this  moment,  as  we  lift  it  to  the 
gale,  and  see  no  other  sign  of  hope  upon  the  storm-cloud 
which  rolls  and  rattles  above  it  save  that  which  is  reflected 
from  its  own  radiant  hues,  —  dearer,  a  thousand  fold  dear- 

25  er  to  us  all,  than  ever  it  was  before,  while  gilded  by  the 
sunshine  of  prosperity  and  playing  with  the  zephyrs  of 
peace.  It  will  speak  for  itself  far  more  eloquently  than  I 
can  speak  for  it. 

Behold  it !     Listen  to  it !     Every  star  has  a  tongue  ; 

30  every  stripe  is  articulate.  There  is  no  language  or  speech 
where  their  voices  are  not  heard.  There  is  magic  in  the 
web  of  it.  It  has  an  answer  for  every  question  of  duty. 
It  has  a  solution  for  every  doubt  and  every  perplexity. 
It  has  a  word  of  good  cheer  for  every  hour  of  gloom  or 

35  of  despondency. 

Behold  it !    Listen  to  it !     It  speaks  of  earlier  and  of 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  413 

later  struggles.  It  speaks  of  victories,  and  sometimes  of 
reverses,  on  the  sea  and  on  the  land.  It  speaks  of  patri- 
ots and  heroes  among  the  living  and  among  the  dead  ;  and 
of  him,  the  first  and  greatest  of  them  all,  around  whose 
5  consecrated  ashes  this  unnatural  and  abhorrent  strife  has 
so  long  been  raging,  —  "  the  abomination  of  desolation, 
standing  where  it  ought  not."  But  before  all  and  above 
all  other  associations  and  memories,  —  whether  of  glorious 
men,  or  glorious  deeds,  or  glorious  places,  —  its  voice  is 

10  ever  of  Union  and  Liberty,  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
Laws. 

Behold  it !  Listen  to  it !  Let  it  tell  the  story  of  its 
birth  to  these  gallant  volunteers,  as  they  march  beneath 
its  folds  by  day,  or  repose  beneath  its  sentinel  stars  by 

15  night. 

Let  it  recall  to  them  the  strange,  eventful  history  of  its 
rise  and  progress ;  let  it  rehearse  to  them  the  wondrous 
tale  of  its  trials  and  its  triumphs,  in  peace  as  well  as  in 
war ;  and  whatever  else  may  happen  to  it,  or  to  them,  it 

20  will  never  be  surrendered  to  rebels,  never  be  ignominiously 

struck  to  treason,  nor  ever  be  prostituted  to  any  unworthy 

and  unchristian  purpose  of  revenge,  depredation,  or  rapine. 

And  may  a  merciful  God  cover  the  head  of  each  one  of 

its  brave  defenders  in  the  hour  of  battle ! 


A  FOREST  SCENE. 
Longfellow. 


This  is  the  forest  primeval.    The  murmuring  pines  and  the  hemlock 
Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments  green,  indistinct  in  the  twilight, 
Stand  like  Druids  of  eld  with  voices  sad  and  prophetic, 
Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards  that  rest  on  their  bosoms. 
Loud  from  its  rocky  caverns  the  deep-voiced  neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail  of  the  forest. 
35* 


414  ihllard's  SIXTH  r.EAr.r.R. 

CXLIII.— EICHELIEU'S   VINDICATION. 

BULWER. 

[Sir  Edward  George  Earle  Bulwer-Lytton,  (generally  known  by  his 
original  name  of  Bulwer,)  one  of  the  most  popular  and  disting-uished  of  the 
living  writers  of  England,  was  born  at  Ilaydon  Hall,  in  the  county  of  Norfolk, 
in  1805,  and  educated  at  the  University  of  Cambridge.  He  is  the  author  of  a 
large  number  of  novels,  as  well  as  of  plays,  poems,  and  miscellanies.  He  is 
a  writer  of  various  and  versatile  power,  and  his  novels  are  remarkable  for 
brilliant  description,  startling  adventures,  sharp  delineation  of  character,  and 
—  especially  the  later  ones  —  a  vein  of  philosophical  reflection.  The  moral 
tone  of  his  earlier  works  is  not  always  to  be  commended,  but  in  this  respect, 
as  well  as  in  substantial  literary  merit,  there  is  a  marked  improvement  in  those 
of  later  date. 

The  following  scene  is  from  "Richelieu,"  a  play  founded  upon  certain  inci- 
dents in  the  life  of  the  great  French  statesmau  of  that  name.] 

EiCHELiEU.    Boom,  my  Lords,  room  !     The  minister  of 
France 
Can  need  no  intercession  with  the  King. 

{They  fall  hack, 
Louis.    What  means  this  false  report  of  death,  Lord 

Cardinal  ? 
EiCHELiEU.    Are  you  then  angered,  sire,  that  I  live  still  ? 
5       Louis.    No ;  but  such  artifice  — 

Richelieu.    Not  mine  :  —  look  elsewhere  I 
Louis  —  my  castle  swarmed  with  the  assassins. 

Baradas  {advancing^    We  have  punished  them  already. 
Huguet  is  now 
In  the  Bastile.     Oh !  my  Lord,  xoe  .were  prompt 
10  To  avenge  you  —  we  were  — 

EiCHELiEU.    We  ?  Ha !  ha  !  you  hear. 
My  liege  !  What  page,  man,  in  the  last  court  grammar 
Made  you  a  plural  ?    Count,  you  have  seized  the  hireling : 
Sire,  shall  I  name  the  master  ? 
15       Louis.    Tush  !  my  Lord, 

The  old  contrivance :  —  ever  does  your  wit 
Invent  assassins,  —  that  ambition  may 
Slay  rivals  — 
EiCHELiEU.    Eivals,  sire!  in  what? 


hillard's  sixth  nuADEn.  415 

Service  to  France?  I  have  none  !  Lives  the  man 

Whom  Europe,  paled  before  your  glory,  deems 

Eival  to  Armand  Eichelieu  ? 
Louis.    What !    so  haughty ! 
5  Eemember,  he  who  made  can  unmake. 
EiCHELiEU.    Never ! 

Never  !     Your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 

Annul  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lands, 

Eifle  my  coffers,  —  hut  my  name  —  my  deeds, 
10  Are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  sceptre  ! 

Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  will ;  from  Kings, 

Lo,  I  appeal  to  Time  !  Be  just,  my  liege  — 

I  found  your  kingdom  rent  with  heresies 

And  bristling  with  rebellion  ;  lawless  nobles 
15  And  breadless  serfs;  England  fomenting  discord; 

Austria  —  her  clutch  on  your  dominion ;  Spain 

Eorging  the  prodigal  gold  of  either  Ind 

To  armed  thunder-bolts.     The  Arts  lay  dead, 

Trade  rotted  in  your  marts,  your  Armies  mutinous, 
20  Your  Treasury  bankrupt.     Would  you  now  revoke 

Your  trust,  so  be  it !  and  I  leave  you,  sole, 

Supremest  monarch  of  the  mightiest  realm, 

From  Ganges  to  the  Icebergs :  —  Look  without ; 

No  foe  not  humbled !     Look  within ;  the  Arts 
25  Quit  for  your  schools  their  old  Hesperides  — 

The  golden  Italy  !  while  through  the  veins 

Of  your  vast  empire  flows  in  strengthening  tides, 

Trade,  the  calm  health  of  nations ! 

Sire,  I  know 
30  Your  smoother  courtiers  please  you  best  —  nor  measure 

Myself  with  them,  —  yet  sometimes  I  would  doubt  \ 

If  statesmen,  rocked  and  dandled  into  power? 

Could  leave  such  legacies  to  kings ! 

[Louis  appears  irresolute, 
Baradas  [passing  him,  whispers^.    But  Julie, 

Shall  I  not  summon  her  to  court  ? 


416  hillakd's  sixth  reader. 

Louis  \_moticms  to  Baradas,  and  turns  haughtily  to  the 
Cardinal^    Enough ! 
Your  Eminence  must  excuse  a  longer  audience. 
To  your  own  palace :  —  For  our  conference,  this 
Nor  place  —  nor  season. 
6       EiciiELiEU.    Good  my  liege !  for  Justtce 
All  place  a  temple,  and  all  season,  summer ! 
Do  you  deny  me  justice  ?    Saints  of  heaven, 
He  turns  from  me  !     Do  you  deny  me  justice  ? 
Eor  fifteen  years,  while  in  these  hands  dwelt  empire, 

10  The  humblest  craftsman  —  the  obscurest  vassal  — 
The  very  leper  shrinking  from  the  sun. 
Though  loathed  by  Charity,  might  ask  for  justice  ! 
Not  with  the  fawning  tone  and  crawling  mien 
Of  some  I  see  around  you  —  Counts  and  Princes  — 

15  Kneeling  tor  favors  ;  —  but,  erect  and  loud, 

As  men  who  ask  man's  rights !  my  liege,  my  Lord, 
Do  you  refuse  me  justice  —  audience  even  — 
In  the  pale  presence  of  the  baffled  Murther  ? 

Louis.    Lord  Cardinal  —  one  by  one  you  have  severed 
from  me 

20  The  bonds  of  human  love.     All  near  and  dear 
Marked  out  for  vengeance  —  exile,  or  the  scaffold. 
You  find  me  now  amidst  my  trustiest  friends, 
My  closest  kindred  ;  you  would  tear  them  from  me  ; 
They  murder  you,  forsooth,  since  me  they  love. 

25  Enough  of  plots  and  treasons  for  one  reign ! 
Home  !  Home !  and  sleep  away  these  phantoms ! 
EiCHELiEU.    Sire ! 

I patience,  heaven  !  sweet  heaven !  Sire,  from  the  foot 

Of  that  Great  Throne,  these  hands  have  raised  aloft 

30  On  an  Olympus,  looking  down  on  mortals 

And  worshipped  by  their  awe  —  before  the  foot 

Of  that  high  throne  —  spurn  you  the  gray-haired  man, 

Who  gave  you  empire  —  and  no-w  sues  for  safety  ! 

Louis.    No :  — when  we  sec  your  Eminence  in  truth 
At  the  Jhot  of  the  throne  —  we  '11  listen  to  you. 


hillard's  sixth  readee.  417 


CXLIV.  — ANTONY'S  ADDEESS  TO  THE  KOMANS. 

Shaksfeare. 

1  Friends,  Eomans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears : 
I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them  ; 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones : 
So  let  it  be  with  Caesar !     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you,  Caesar  was  ambitious  : 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault ; 
And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it 
Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 
(Eor  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man, 
So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men ;) 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

2  He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me : 
But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Kome, 

"WTiose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 

Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept : 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff. 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see,  that,  on  the  Lupercal, 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  sure  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke  ,• 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause : 

What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for  him  ? 

O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 


418  hillard's  sixth  keader. 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason !  —  Bear  with  me : 
My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

3  But  yesterday  the  word  of  Caesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world  ;  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  Masters  !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong — I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you, 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 
But  here 's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Caesar ; 
I  found  it  in  his  closet :  't  is  his  will. 
Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament, 
(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,) 
And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood  — 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 
And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 
Bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  legacy. 
Unto  their  issue. 

4  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  ; 

'T  was  on  a  summer's  evening  in  his  tent  ; 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii :  — 
Look  !     In  this  place  ran  Cassius's  dagger  through 
See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made  — 
Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed ; 
And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it !  — 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ! 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  419 

Tor,  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms. 

Quite  vanquished  him  !     Then  burst  his  mighty  heart: 

And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face. 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue. 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 

0,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  I 

Then  I  and  you,  and  all  of  us,  fell  down ; 

Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 

0,  now  you  weep ;  and  I  perceive  you  feel 

The  dint  of  pity :  —  these  are  gracious  drops, 

Kind  souls  !     What,  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 

Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  ye  here  !  — 

Here  is  himself — marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors. 

Good  friends  !  sweet  friends  !     Let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny ! 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable ! 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  it !    They  are  wise  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts : 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is  ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man. 
That  love  my  friend  —  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood  :  —  I  only  speak  right  on  ; 
I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know  — 
Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor,  dumb  mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me.     But,  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony, 
Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Kome  to  rise  and  mutiny ! 


420  HILLARD*S   SIXTH  READER. 

CXLV.~  VINDICATION   OF    IKELAND. 

Sheil. 

[Richard  Lalor  Sheil  was  born  near  "Waterford,  Ireland,  August  17, 179 
and  died  May  23,  1857,  at  Florence,  where  he  was  residing  as  British  ministc 
at  the  court  of  Tuscany.  He  was  called  to  the  bar  in  1814,  and  entered  parlis 
ment  in  1830.  He  was  a  man  of  brilliant  oratorical  genius,  and  the  author  c 
several  successful  dramas.  The  following  piece  is  an  extract  from  a  speec 
delivered  in  the  house  of  commons  in  vindication  of  the  Irish  people  against 
charge  made  by  Lord  Lyndhurst  in  the  house  of  lords,  a  short  time  before.] 

There  is,  however,  one  man  of  great  abilities,  not  ; 
member  of  this  house  (Lord  Lyndhurst) ,  but  whose  talent 
and  whose  boldness  have  placed  him  in  the  topmost  plac 
in  his  party  —  who,  disdaining  all  imposture,  and  thinkiuj 
5  it  the  best  course  to  appeal  directly  to  the  religious  an( 
national  antipathies  of  the  people  of  this  country  —  aban 
doning  all  reserve,  and  flinging  off  the  slender  veil  b; 
which  his  political  associates  affect  to  cover,  although  the; 
cannot  hide,   their  motives  —  distinctly  and   audaciousl;; 

10  tells  the  Irish  people  that  they  are  not  entitled  to  the  sam( 
privilege  as  Englishmen ;  and  pronounces  them,  in  an;] 
particular  which  could  enter  his  minute  enumeration  o 
the  circumstances  by  which  fellow-citizenship  is  created 
in  race,  identity,  and  religion  —  to  be  aliens — to  be  alien! 

15  in  race  —  to  be  aliens  in  country  —  to  be  aliens  in  religion 

Aliens  !  good  God !  was  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wellington,  ii 

the  house  of  lords,  and  did  he  not  start  up  and  exclaim 

"Hold!    I  have  seen  the  aliens  do  their  duty?"     The 

Duke  of  Wellington  is  not  a  man  of  an  excitable  tempera^ 

20  ment.  His  mind  is  of  a  cast  too  martial  to  be  easily  moved 
but,  notwithstanding  his  habitual  inflexibility,  I  cannoi 
help  thinking  that  when  he  heard  his  Koman  Catholic 
countrymen  (for  we  are  his  countrymen)  designated  by  a 
phrase  as  offensive  as  the  abundant  vocabulary  of  his  elo- 

25  quent  confederate  could  supply — I  cannot  help  thinkino 
that  he  ought  to  have  recollected  the  many  fields  of  fighl 
in  which  we  have  been  contributors  to  his  renown.     "  The 


hillard's  sixth  reader.  421 

"battles,  sieges,  fortunes  that  he  has  passed,"  ought  to  have 
come  back  upon  him.  He  ought  to  have  remembered  that, 
from  the  earliest  achievement  in  which  he  displayed  that 
military  genius  which  has   placed   him  foremost  in  the 

5  annals  of  modern  warfare,  down  to  that  last  and  surpass- 
ing combat  which  has  made  his  name  imperishable  —  from 
Assaye  to  Waterloo  —  the  Irish  soldiers,  with  whom  your 
armies  are  filled,  were  the  inseparable  auxiliaries  to  the 
glory  with  which  his    unparalleled   successes  have  been 

0  crowned.  Whose  were  the  arms  that  drove  your  bayonets 
at  Vimiera  through  the  phalanxes  that  never  reeled  in  the 
shock  of  war  before  ?  What  desperate  valor  climbed  the 
steeps  and  filled  the  moats  at  Badajos  ?  All  his  victories 
should  have  rushed  and  crowded  back  upon  his  memory  — 

5  Vimiera,  Badajos,  Salamanca,  Albuera,  Toulouse,  and,  last 

of  all  the  greatest . 

Tell  me,  for  you  were  there  —  I  appeal  to  the  gallant 
soldier  before  me,  (Sir  Henry  Hardinge,)  from  whose  opin- 
ions I  differ,  but  who  bears,  I  know,  a  generous  heart  in 

0  an  intrepid  breast ;  —  tell  me,  for  you  must  needs  remem- 
ber —  on  that  day  when  the  destinies  of  mankind  were 
trembling  in  the  balance  —  while  death  fell  in  showers  — 
when  the  artillery  of  France  was  levelled  with  a  precision 
of  the  most  deadly  science  —  when  her  legions,  incited  by 

5  the  voice,  and  inspired  by  the  example  of  their  mighty 
leader,  rushed  again  and  again  to  the  onset  —  tell  me  if, 
for  an  instant  when,  to  hesitate  for  an  instant  was  to  be 
lost,  the  "  aliens  "  blenched  ? 

And  when  at  length  the  moment  for  the  last  and  decisive 

0  movement  had  arrived,  and  the  valor  which  had  so  long 
been  wisely  checked  was  at  last  let  loose  —  when,  with  words 
familiar,  but  immortal,  the  great  captain  commanded  the 
great  assault  —  tell  me,  if  Catholic  Ireland,  with  less  heroic 
valor  than  the  natives  of  this  your  own  glorious  country, 

5  precipitated  herself  upon  the  foe  ?     The  blood  of  England, 
Sootland,  and  of  Ireland,  flowed  in  the  same  stream,  and 
36 


422  hillard's  sixth  reader. 

drenclied  tlie  same  field.  When  the  chill  morning  dawn* 
their  dead  lay  cold  and  stark  together :  —  in  the  same  d( 
pit  their  bodies  were  deposited  —  the  green  corn  of  spri 
is  now  breaking  from  their  commingled  dust  —  the  d 
^  5  falls  from  heaven  upon  their  union  in  the  grave.  Part? 
ers  in  every  peril  —  in  the  glory  shall  we  not  be  permiti 
to  participate ;  and  shall  we  be  told,  as  a  requital,  that 
are  estranged  from  the  noble  country  for  whose  salvati 
our  life-blood  was  poured  out  ? 


CXLVI.— THE   EISING   OF   THE   VENDEE. 

Croly, 

[The  Rev.  George  Croly  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1780,  and  died  in  1800. 
was  for  many  years  rector  of  St.  Stephens,  Walbrook,  in  London.    He  wa 
well-known  writer  in  prose  and  verse.    Among  his  productions  were  "  C 
line,"  a  tragedy ;  "  Salathiel,"  a  romance ;  a  biography  of  Burke  ;  and 
novel  of  "  Marston,  or  Memoirs  of  a  Statesman,"  from  which  the  follow 
spirited  poem  id  taken. 

La  Vendee,*  or  the  Vendee,  is  a  district  on  the  western  coast  of  France, 
inhabitants  of  which  were  royalists,  and  broke  out  into  open  rebellion  agai 
the  revolutionary  government  of  France  in  1793.  The  insurrection  was  s 
pressed  after  a  few  months,  during  which  the  Vendeans  displayed  the  m 
heroic  courage.  An  Angevine  is  an  inhabitant  of  the  district  of  Anjou.  'J 
Oriflamme  was  the  ancient  royal  standard  of  France.] 

It  was  a  Sabbath  morning,  and  sweet  the  summer  air, 

And  brightly  shone  the  summer  sun  upon  the  day  of  prayer, 

And  silver  sweet  the  village-bells  o'er  mount  and  valley  tolled, 

And  in  the  church  of  St.  Florentf  were  gathered  young  and  old, 

When,  rushing  down  the  woodland  hill,  in  fiery  haste,  was  seen, 

With  panting  steed  and  bloody  spur,  a  noble  Angevine ; 

And  bounding  on  the  sacred  floor,  he  gave  his  fearful  cry  : 

"Up !  up  for  France !  the  time  is  come  for  France  to  live  or  die  I 

"  Your  queen  is  in  the  dungeon ;  your  king  is  in  his  gore ; 
O'er  Paris  waves  the  flag  of  death,  the  fiery  Tricolour ; 
Your  nobles  in  their  ancient  halls  are  hunted  down  and  slain ; 
In  convent  cells  and  holy  shrines  the  blood  is  poured  like  rain; 

*  Vendue,  van(g)-da'.  t  St.  Florent,  san(g)-flo-ran(g). 


HILLARD'S   SIXTH   READER.  423 

The  peasant's  vine  is  rooted  up,  liis  cottage  given  to  flame ; 
His  son  is  to  the  scaffold  sent,  his  daughter  sent  to  shame. 
With  torch  in  liand  and  hate  in  heart,  the  rebel  host  is  nigh. 
Up !  up  for  France  !  the  time  is  come  for  France  to  live  or  die !  " 

That  live-long  night  the  horn  was  heard  from  Orleans*  to  Anjou,  f 
And  poured  from  all  their  quiet  fields  our  shepherds  bold  and  true. 
Along  the  pleasant  banks  of  Loire  shot  up  the  beacon-fires, 
And  many  a  torch  was  blazing  bright  on  Luzon's  J  stately  spires  ; 
The  midnight  cloud  was  flushed  with  flame,  that  hung  -o'er  Par- 

thenay ;  § 
The  blaze  that  shone  o'er  proud  Brissac  |1  was  like  the  breaking  day, 
Till  east,  and  west,  and  north,  and  south,  the  loyal  beacons  shone 
Like  shooting  stars  from  haughty  Nantes  ^  to  sea-begirt  Olonne.** 

And  through  the  night,  on  horse  and  foot,  the  sleepless  summons  flew, 

And  morning  saw  tlie  Lily-flag  wide- waving  o'er  Poitou.ft 

And  many  an  ancient  musketoon  was  taken  from  the  wall, 

And  many  a  jovial  hunter's  steed  was  harnessed  in  the  stall, 

And  many  a  noble's  armory  gave  up  the  sword  and  spear. 

And  many  a  bride,  and  many  a  babe,  was  left  with  kiss  and  tear, 

And  many  a  homely  peasant  bade  farewell  to  his  old  dame, 

As  in  the  days  when  France's  king  unfurled  the  Oriflamme. 

There,  leading  his  bold  marksmen,  rode  the  eagle-eyed  Lescure,JJ 
And  dark  Sto filet,  §§  who  flies  to  fight  as  an  eagle  to  his  lure ; 
And  fearless  as  the  lion  roused,  but  gentle  as  the  lamb. 
Came  marching  at  his  people's  head  the  great  and  good  Bonchamp  ;||11 
Charette,  ^^  where  honor  was  the  prize,  the  hero  sure  to  win  ; 
And  there,  with  Henri  Quatre's  plume,  young  la  Rochejacquelein  ;  *** 
And  there,  in  peasant  garb  and  speech,  —  the  terror  of  the  foe,  — 
A  noble,  made  by  Heaven's  own  hand,  the  great  Cathelineau.ftt 

We  marched  by  tens  of  thousands,  we  marched  by  day  and  night, 
The  Lily-standard  in  our  front,  like  Israel's  holy  light. 
Around  us  rushed  the  rebels,  as  the  wolf  upon  the  sheep,  — 
We  burst  upon  their  columns  as  a  lion  roused  from  sleep  ; 

*  Orleans,  or-la-an(g).  tt  Poitou,  pwa-t6. 

t  Anjou,  an(g)-zh6.  jj  Lescure,  les-cure. 

X  Lu9oa,  lu-san(g).  §§  Stofflet,  stof-fla. 

§  Parthenay,  par-te-na.  ||||  Bonchamp,  ban(g)-shan(g). 

II  Brissac,  bris-sac.  ITIT  Charette,  sha-ret. 

IT  Nantes,  nan(g)t.  ***  la  Rochejaquelein,  lah-r6sh-zhak-ian(g). 

**  Olonne,  61-16n.  ftt  Catheiiueau,  cat-eh-li-no. 


124  lilLLARD'S   SIXTH  READER. 

We  tore  their  bayonets  from  their  hands,  we  slew  them  at  their  guns ; 
Their  boasted  horsemen  fled  like  chaff  before  our  forest  sons. 
That  night  we  heaped  their  baggage  high  their  lines  of  dead  between, 
And  in  the  centre  blazed  to  heaven  their  blood-dyed  guillotine  ! 

In  vain  they  hid  their  heads  in  walls ;  we  rushed  on  stout  Thouar ;  ♦ 
What  cared  we  for  shot  or  shell,  for  battlement  or  bar? 
We  burst  its  gates  ;  then  like  a  wind  we  rushed  on  Fontenay ;  f 
We  saw  its  flag  with  morning  light —  't  was  ours  by  setting  day; 
We  crushed  like  ripened  grapes  Montreuil,  J  we  bore  down  old 

Vihiers ;  § 
We  charged  them  with  our  naked  breasts,  and  took  them  with  a 

cheer. 
We  '11  hunt  the  robbers  through  the  land,  from  Seine  ||  to  sparkling 

Khone ; 
Now,  **  Here  's  a  health  to  all  we  love,  our  king  shall  have  his  own." 


CXLYIL  — THE   AWAKINGTOF   A    GEEAT    NATION. 


Methinks  I  see,  in  nnMRd,  a  noble  and  puissant  nation 
rousing  herself  like  a  st^B^  man  after  sleep,  and  shaking  her 
invincible  locks  ;  me^^^i^s  I  see  her  as  an  eagle  mewing  her 
mighty  youth,  and  kindling  her  dazzled  eyes  at  the  full  mid- 
day beam ;  purging  and  unsealing  her  long  abused  sight  at 
the  fountain  itself  of  heavenly  radiance  ;  while  the  whole  noise 
of  timorous  and  flocking  hiHltf,  with  those  also  that  love  the 
twilight,  flutter  about,  amazed  at  what  she  means,  and,  in 
their  envious  gabble,  would  prognosticate  a  year  of  sects  and 
schisms. 

*  Thouar,  t8-ar.  t  Montreuil,  man(g)-trerl,  j 

t  Fontenay,  fan(g)-teh-na.  §  Vihiers,  vi-ya.  I 

II  Seine,  san.  1 


THE   END. 


Whole  number  of  pages  504, 


This  booic  i.  ^. ..  .1  /.  SR  A  D  V   ^'■'-"'« 


'°"'°™™ediate  recall. 


WOV- 15  1964 

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